


i'll put down my roots when i'm dead

by duckkue



Series: hurt/comfort fics by duckkue [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: All Platonic - Freeform, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Author Projecting onto Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Author Projecting onto TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Author Projecting onto Wilbur Soot, Author Projects onto Everyone, Awkward Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream is Called Clay (Video Blogging RPF), Crying, Depression, Dialogue Heavy, Dissociation, Dream comes to the rescue, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, FUCK I SPELLED DREAM WRONG, FUCK YOU ALL PLATONIC, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fuck I'm just venting at this point, Good Older Sibling Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Wilbur Soot, Hurt/Comfort, I DONT SHIP WILBUR AND DREWAM BUT TAKE DREAM BEING A GOOD ASS FRIEND, I Made Myself Cry, I'm projecting on George hard, I'm projecting on Phil a lot too, IRL Fic, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lots of tears, Men Crying, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romance, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Older Siblings Wilber Soot and Technoblade, Other, Panic Attacks, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Parental Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Tries (Video Blogging RPF), Phil comes to the rescue, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Protective GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Toby Smith | Tubbo, Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sad, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sad GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Parental Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Wilbur Soot, Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sobbing, Soft Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Soft GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Soft TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Technoblade is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade is Clueless, The Author Regrets Everything, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), Tubbo Is Honestly So Mature, Tubbo is so uncharacteristically mature what, Whump, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, Wilbur Soot-centric, Wilbur can't play geetar anymore, i think, should I just kill wilbur lmak, that'd be funny, theyre only kids ffs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:01:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckkue/pseuds/duckkue
Summary: The comfort he held in his two hands was gone with the wind, slipping through his calloused fingers and whispering into the void, ready to finally retire to the darkness.He had a feeling it was never coming back.Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with this fic I will take this down.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: hurt/comfort fics by duckkue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158353
Comments: 74
Kudos: 422





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> TW// Suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, attempt, implied/referenced self harm, swearing, low self worth
> 
> Know you are loved.  
> 🧡💜❤️💛

Wilbur Soot wasn’t the same person as Will Gold. Very, very few people seemed to understand that concept. Most of his friend group saw the more genuine Wilbur: the one who sat on call with Tommy everyday just to hear him babble on about his assignments and his life; the one who listened intently to Techno’s rants about Greek Mythology, Minecraft, and everything in between; the one who watched in awe as Phil handled everything with a grace and wisdom Wilbur had never learned; the one who helped Tubbo through every bad day when he was pissed off for no reason and scared of snapping at Tommy because of it.

But Wilbur Soot wasn’t broken. Will Gold was.

Wilbur Soot was a saint; an angel gracing the presence of everything around him. Wilbur was an easy grin and playful glare, he was sweet vanilla and warm hugs and mature, wise words. He was a musician, a truly talented artist. He was lighthearted flirting and platonic cuddling. He was a shield to those he cared for. He was a big brother to the children around him and he was as protective to the people older than him in his family as he was to the younger ones. He was chaos and deals with the devil, he was destruction and reconstruction. He was 1am adventures and bursting speakers and borderline illegal stunts like stealing a stop sign or spray painting buildings. Yet, he was kind to strangers and more helpful than he ever needed to be. He was intelligent, he was resourceful. He was at perfect balance.

Then, there was William Gold.

Will was a specter; a spirit cursed to walk the plains and observe from what always felt like the sidelines. Will wore a thin line for a mouth and deep, dull eyes. He was worthless, a failure, and he couldn't do anything right. He was a cold, dark room and desperate embraces and stuttering, broken words. He was shattering isolation and lonely rest. He was too weak to be there for someone else and himself at the same time. He was looked up to and forced to meet such high expectations that he had to snap his neck to see the top. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to see it. He was sobs on empty, late night train rides and self deprecation. He was silent guitar strums and melancholy mental spirals next to the deep, cold water. He was submissive and a doormat when it came to other people, no matter how well or bad they meant. He felt so stupid and useless all the time. Will Gold tipped too far off the edge.

Wilbur and William were the same person, though, weren't they? The two opposing parts of the same broken man. Whether he was in place of Wilbur or William, he’d never do enough.

He wasn’t enough. He never would be.

It was an itch crawling underneath his cold flesh, the bursting flames lining the ice in his veins. It was a painfully long night spent crying for help and gasping for breath. It was night terrors about anything and everything. It was all Will knew anymore. He was cold as hell, fucking frigid, and he knew he would be regardless of the English weather. It could be 34 degrees Celsius outside and he’d still have chattering teeth and blue fingers.

“I’m so cold.” Christ, that was forever ago. Editor Wilbur, he was dubbed. An ARG he’d never regret making, besides the possible manifesting of the whole insanity thing. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘵, he had said, 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵. 𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘴. 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦.

It was fun while it lasted, he supposed. Things never seemed to last for him, though. Not that he deserved anything, anyways, he was really pathetic and stupid as shit. He couldn’t carry his own weight or help anyone in carrying theirs. He was an incompetent, good-for-nothing waste of space.

𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺.

He wasn't trying to.

𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺.

Maybe he didn't want to anymore.

𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺.

Maybe he didn't 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 to anymore.

Yeah, he really didn't. What was he getting up for, anyways? Right. 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

An abandoned guitar stared him down from the corner. It's gaze seemed sad, miserable. Almost as if saying 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘞𝘪𝘭, 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘦.. 𝘥𝘪𝘦? 𝘋𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦?

Sorry that I'm not strong enough, he thought.

The top surface was neatly covered in a thin layer of dust. The sight of perfection almost made Wilbur get up just to run a finger along the grime. 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.

The ghosting weight of the instrument heaved itself up into his arms, the feeling too foreign and familiar all at once. Strums and plucks at rich, melodic strings teased his fingertips. Soft slaps at the wooden base stung his palms. Gentle but firm grips at the neck of the guitar clenched his fists. It was.. 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨. It felt 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 now. He knew it used to be all he knew, all he had. The comfort he held in his two hands was gone with the wind, slipping through his calloused fingers and whispering into the void, ready to finally retire to the darkness.

He had a feeling it was never coming back.

He sat up on his bed, blankets scattered around in what he would've called an "organized mess". Not that he'd said that in a long time, especially since he hadn't really talked to anyone in- weeks? It had been a bit, to say the very least.

He hadn't moved in a while; anything more than occasional bathroom trips and rare food stops were far too much for Wilbur to handle. Anything was, really. A glance to his side and he saw a phone set on a nightstand. It hadn't been opened in what felt like an eternity. His notifications went haywire the first few days that he finally quit trying to find the energy to text back. His phone had long since stopped buzzing.

𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺.

Maybe he was doing everyone a favor.

Maybe he should just get up already.

𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦.

Nothing felt solid now, he noted distantly. It was like he was floating, gravity’s hold on him slipping but not enough to send him to space. Not enough to raise him to the stars and become a constellation. He was floating, nonetheless. 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥, 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘶𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘴, he could almost hear someone say. Which one of his friends would've? He could name a few. Echoes of laughter bounced off the rubbery walls of Wilbur's brain. 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴?

Maybe before. Maybe a lifetime ago when even thinking about the computer sitting on his desk didn’t make him nauseous. But now? He'd never be able to face them ever again. Not like they'd want him around anyways, but still. (Not like Will had the urge to talk to them ever again, oh no.) Maybe he needed some fresh air. 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦.

The faint melody of high pitched laughter came tumbling from one end of his jumbled thoughts to another, a simple 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 retorting back, obviously playing from his memories. He must’ve heard those two words a lot. The voice sounded suspiciously like Tommy, so Wilbur just elected to ignore it. That gremlin had soaked up his fair share of the older’s thoughts, and he wasn’t granting him any more. 𝘖𝘶𝘤𝘩.

Yeah, he was going to get some air. (Finally.)

Standing up for the first time in what felt like an actual eternity was.. an experience Wilbur'd rather not experience ever again.

His brain immediately screamed at him, his vision swarmed with black dots and his head pounding. _Make it stop, please, I'm begging you, stop it, it hurts ow ow ow-_ The wave of it was so strong that he stumbled backwards and down on the bed. Wilbur clutched at his head so hard he felt a small bit of blood trickle down his face. It only made the headache worse. 𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘮-

The clock ticked by for what could have been minutes or hours. Maybe days if Wilbur wanted to humor it enough. (But hadn't he already been doing that?)  
He lay curled up in a ball, heart slamming against his rib cage and head pounding in protest. He could remember a time where this had happened before. A time when he had had migraines every waking moment but tried so hard to hide it. A time when Wilbur wasn’t completely shattered, far from it, really. It was the first time Techno came to the UK to visit.

They had been walking all over Brighton the day before, touring through the sights. Well, it was more of Wilbur seeing his town for the millionth time and Techno commentating over it in his usual monotone. Will was walking backwards as he kept his eyes on Techno, the American simply wondering the path like a normal person. Waving his arms to the town around them, Wilbur grinned. “I’ll be your tour guide today, Mr. Blade,” He bowed his head down slightly and dramatically. “Where would you like to go? Anywhere you want, just name it.”

A small sigh, although it was very obviously fond and not serious, “Will, this is why you’re my tour guide. I don’t know this country, Will, I'm a _foreigner, oh the horror_ , remember?”

Wilbur’s eyes lit up, face bright as he smirked. “Oh, the notorious _Technoblade_ , admitting to _not_ knowing something? I’m absolutely flabbergasted. I’m truly baffled. The world must be ending.”

The American rolled his eyes, lips twitching. “I’m well aware.”

They surprised Tommy by convincing his dad to let him come to Brighton for another day, just so he could see Techno and meet him in real life. "So I can bully him up close," Techno had said, "So that nerd can get what's comin' for him." Wilbur noticed how Techno wasn't the first to pull away from the warm, comfortable hug he greeted Tommy with, though. ( _ClingyBlade,_ Wilbur had teased. Techno threatened to cut out his tongue.)

That was yesterday, though, so Tommy had gone back to London - begrudgingly - and Phil had already come to join the two back at Wilbur's.

“So, if the _dumbass_ just changed the _fucking sails_ -”

“Oh my _God_ , Techno, shut the hell up. Boo hoo, Theseus was a stupid motherfucker who killed some douche for his country then forgot to tell them. What ever shall you do in the face of this pure tragedy?” Wilbur groaned, beginning to regret his initial intrigue with his friend’s mythological stories. The Blood God simply frowned, glaring at his friend, though there was no heat in the stare. “Fine, I’ll go talk to Phil, then.” Techno challenged. Will stuck his tongue out at the other, but his eyes were tired in a way that rose questions within Technoblade. He shook it off as just exhaustion from the day before. “Oh, running to Phil the moment you’re shut down? You sad, sad man.” Wilbur jabbed. The American laughed, lips quirking up as he stood, “Okay, i’m actually gonna go talk with Phil and grab some more snacks. Don’t start the movie without us, Will.” Wilbur crossed his arms. “No promises, Techno.”

Crossing the house to the kitchen, Techno was met with a short British man, who was quite possibly the person closest to him and his heart, scrolling through his phone as he waited for popcorn to pop. His wise, wondrous eyes glanced up from whatever was on his screen, and he smiled at the younger. “Hey, Techno. Come to raid through Will’s cupboards again?” Walking over to the pantry, the American grinned, “You know me _so_ well, Phil.” Philza’s signature laugh rang through the room, probably just loud enough for the boy in the other room to faintly hear. Techno’s heart warmed at the sound.

When the microwave beeped, Phil took out the bag and poured it into a bowl with a practiced kind of grace. Phil looked over to see a satisfied Technoblade with a few bags of food, chips - _crisps_ , Tommy had been sure to correct Techno multiple times - and some random pretzels and gummies, so he turned and walked back to the living room. The other followed suit.

The two didn’t know what they were expecting to walk back into - they were literally just a good few metres away from the other room - once they returned. They would feel confident in saying that they were not expecting to come back to an uncomfortable Wilbur Soot, hunched over and very troubled. Confused and concerned, Techno and Phil made eye contact for a few moments before turning back to the boy in distress.

Phil took a seat next to Wilbur, who didn't seem to be aware of his presence. The lanky brunet was rubbing at his temples, his eyes screwed shut, and lips tilted downwards. Techno and Phil glanced at each other yet again, worries barely concealed. Techno took a seat on the other side of their friend.  
Wilbur started trembling, very lightly, but obviously. Making up his mind, Phil wrapped an easy arm around him, pulling him to the blonde's side. Wilbur tensed up for a moment before relaxing. He leaned into the half embrace. "Hey, mate." Phil whispered soothingly. Will let out a quiet but high pitched whine and shoved his head into the crook of Philza's neck. The oldest wrapped his arm fully around the other, using his available hand to gently massage Will's scalp. 𝘚𝘢𝘧𝘦, his mind whispered, 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦. Wilbur completely melted.

They leaned back into the cushions, Wilbur curled into Phil's side with Techno rubbing calming, small circles into Will's back gently. “D’you want to talk about it?” Wilbur made a low noise. “M’head, r’lly hurts a lot.” His mouth felt weird and his words were slurring. Phil hummed, “How long has it been hurting, mate?” Wilbur sat quietly for a moment, trying to think about it. He ended up shrugging, “Not sure, a few weeks or s’mthin’..” The oldest blew out a breath, concerned. “That’s a long time, Will. I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with this. Tell us next time, okay?” The brunet nodded, thoughts fuzzy from the warm embrace.

“Let’s get you to sleep. Techno, get some meds for him. Will, where’s your medicine cabinet?” “In the kitchen, the farthest right cupboard.” Tech got up to find the meds. In due time, they were all snuggled up on the couch, occasionally snacking on some food and talking. They played the movie on low volume, a constant background noise that Wilbur deeply appreciated. It may have only been about 9pm, but they all dozed off in the presence of each other. It was cleansing, it was refreshing. Wilbur woke up without a migraine for the first time in weeks, and they spent the next morning with ice cream and movie marathons. They were okay. 𝘚𝘢𝘧𝘦.

If Wilbur kept his eyes closed, he could stay in that moment for a long time. He knew it was futile and pointless. He tried to let the calming voice of Phil and reassuring motions from Techno wash over him again, but they were gone. Slowly, he unfurled from his ball, forcing his hands to let go of his head. Will knew that blood had run down the sides of his face in small streaks and streams. He didn't pay any mind to them, simply wiping them away with his sleeves. More carefully this time, he slipped off the bed.

Finally moving around without feeling like he was actually dying cleared the tiniest bit of the fog in his head, although he knew fixing the rest of it was far beyond his capabilities. The little things, he thought. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵.

He'd be gone soon, anyways.

He shut his eyes, forcing the thought out of his mind the best he could. It didn't work, unsurprisingly. What was he doing, again? Right, going outside. Did he- did he really want to, honestly? Should he even show his pathetic, hated face anywhere? What would he even do outside, anyways?

A thought clicked in his head. Something, muffled and quiet and 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬, whispered it's mantra over and over. 𝘕𝘰. 𝘕𝘰. 𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵- 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘕𝘰. 𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘰-

A louder part of him seemed very keen on the idea, though it was nothing new to the brunet. 𝘋𝘰 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰.

Ringing echoed inside of his ears, and a wave of dizziness hit him hard. It made him stumble to the side, balance thrown off. He felt like his thoughts weren't his own, he couldn't 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬. Didn't normal people think this stuff through?

𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭, 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶?

He noticed, Captain Obvious.

𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥, another siren lulled, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱.

No. _Nonono_. If he slept, he wouldn't wake up. Sure- he _wanted_ that, but. Too easy. He was always one for the dramatics, wasn't he? He had a different idea, anyways. He liked his own plans better. It'd been a while since he'd done anything, hadn't it?

He's doing this the right way. Razors flashed in his mind. Searing pain and silent tears but no desired outcome. 𝘕𝘰, 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨.

After a small scan of the floor, he spotted his shoes. They sat carelessly right beside the nightstand, which still had his dead phone waiting patiently on the top of it. He hesitated slightly. 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦, 𝘵𝘰𝘰.

He knew they had; he didn't blame them, either. He'd given up on himself a long time ago. Something about the true realization stirred the beginnings of a hurricane deep inside his gut, and clenched his chest tightly. It also brought a strange wash of calm over him. Huh.

𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴.

Pulling in his shoes, he tugged a black beanie over his head. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, he reasoned, 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. That's for the best, he thought. He glanced back at his guitar. Should he? Could he even play anymore? (Did he _want_ to?)

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵.

He left with the instrument, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So pain is all we know as we've learned today
> 
> I- You guys, please, take care of yourselves and know that you are loved! ❤️💜🧡 Remember to go get some food and water, get a healthy amount of sleep and surround yourself with people you love and trust and who love and trust you. Love you guys:3  
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated:))


	2. 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur arrives at his destination. Someone's there to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, low self worth, small paragraph about drowning, implied/referenced self harm, swearing

It was all in blurs. Blurs and flashes of muted and bright colors contrast and contradict each other as Wilbur moves with auto pilot. He didn't remember getting a train ticket. He didn't remember 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯. He didn't remember- 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵-

His guitar sat quietly in it's case. It wasn't played; wasn't cleaned. Wilbur's fingerprints were left in the dirt layering it. He didn't know where he was going. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘵.

A flash from around 30 minutes ago came to mind.   
Oh, he had had one £20 note and one £10 note on him. He must've used them for the ticket. He distantly recognized that he had a good amount of change left. If he was thinking clearly, he would've realized that the price matched the cost of a ticket to London, but, obviously, he wasn't. 

Why would he even want to go to London, anyways? (No one in London would miss him. Not even Tommy, his psuedo-brother, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥-)

He should stop thinking about that.

He blinked, and time passed. It was his stop, something in his mind reminded. Okay, it was his stop. He should get off now. He stood up. Distantly, he noted how he 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 become a ball of pathetic, useless flesh because of a dumb, little headache. What a turn around. 

Wilbur looked back at the guitar. His guitar. Something that had gotten him through everything and anything. A piece of his history, of his life. An item with value, with memories and melodies. 

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬.

Better to lose all attachments, anyways.

When Wilbur got off of the train, the black, hard case containing everything he had left didn't.  
\--

Richmond. He was in Richmond. He didn't care to look into the 𝘸𝘩𝘺, more so focused on the 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸.

Walking aimlessly around London was a trip into the past and 𝘣𝘰𝘺 if Wilbur didn't enjoy that. 

Hah. 𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

Wondering the streets, considering every spot that he could play his guitar in or hang out with friends at, it had been something to relieve his mind momentarily. A temporary solution to the problem that was his fucking head.

𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘸𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘦?

Wilbur didn't try pushing that thought away.

𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰.

Oh, if he didn't want to laugh at that one. He hadn't been on track for a 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 fucking time. He knew he wasn't going to break that streak today, or ever, if that thought was any indication. Today was his last day. Maybe, if he was lucky, he was already in his last hour.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰.

He knows, he 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴. He knew the voice knew that he knew. What a strange line of thinking, huh? All about knowing when he knew that he knew nothing. That word was going to give him a goddamn headache if he thought about it again. He probably won't, all things considered.

Looking up from the ground, Wilbur saw Richmond Bridge. He felt an ache deep in his legs. Will had been walking for a long time, hadn't he?

He remembered a talk he had had with Tommy, once. It was after Tommy had first heard the album. Track One: Jubilee Line. They had had a long conversation about how Will was doing so much better and didn't feel any attachment to any of his songs on that album anymore. It had taken a good 30 minutes to get Tommy to fully believe him and to stop asking, "Are you sure, Will? I don't want you to.. you know.." and other things along those lines. Hotlines and emergency mental health services were written down and put on the table just in case. They discussed suicide bridges and the rates in England. Tommy made Wilbur promise not to ever even think about going to one of those bridges and hurting himself. Confidently, Wilbur had promised him. Tommy trusted him.

𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺.

Tommy. His psuedo brother. His friend. Someone he loved and cared for. What would Tommy be thinking right now? Was the young blonde worried about him? Was he furiously spamming Will to get his shit together and text him? Was he sad that he would never get to hear Wilbur's voice live again because his best friend was about to be six feet under? Did he even care at all?

Wilbur knew Tommy more than he knew himself. (Which wasn't saying much anymore.) He knew that Tommy 𝘥𝘪𝘥 care at some point or another. He appreciated his kindess and his willingness to pretend to love Will and the things the older made. Wilbur wasn't worthy of Tommy's time, of his love. Tommy called him his brother; Tommy entrusted the weight of so, so many of his darkest thoughts and secrets to the brunet. Tommy let Will card his fingers through his hair, Tommy let Will hug him and praise him and 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 him. Tommy 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 him.

𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦, 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺? 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘛𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦, 𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵? 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺? 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺.

Even if they were just thoughts, the tinges of desperation were painfully obvious. 

Wilbur should've left him a note. A text message. If Will had sent a letter, would his parents have read it first? Would they be frantically calling and emailing and trying to find out if what they were reading was true? Would Tommy come home from a long day at college, a stressful nine hour period to wind down and relax just to hear from his mum that his best friend was fucking dead and there was nothing he could've done? Would Tommy be forced to sit on call with every single one of Will's online friends and explain that the older would never pick up a call ever again? Would Tommy fall down the same hole Will did? Would Tommy come to the same bridge Will did and teeter a little too close to the edge? Would Tommy- would he-

Scratch that, Will was pretty glad he didn't leave anything for his friends. Maybe, if he was lucky, they would never find out.

𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘗𝘴𝘩. Mr. 3.8 million subscribers with hit songs and streams wracking in an average of 68,000 viewers. His death would be 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. He found that he didn't really like that thought. Even if the world of the oh so lovely Twitter, Twitch, and Youtube didn't really dig for it, his passing would still be in some article and his family would tell his friends, anyways.

Wilbur's focus shifted back to reality. His feet had taken him to the bridge, it seemed. Leaning on the sturdy bricks, he looked down at the dark, murky water. It was pitch black, save it for the lights decorating the streets and walkways.

If he had to choose one thing to dislike about the city London, and believe him, he had a long list to choose from, it'd probably be his inability to see the stars at night. Smog and pollution blanketed the entire city uncomfortably. He would know; he's seen plenty of close friends and family catch horrid conditions and diseases while in London. Hell, his phlegm cough had only cleared up due to his exit from the hellscape that was this city.

Wilbur was a tad disappointed that, in his last moments, he wouldn't be able to look up and watch the stars fade from his vision as the water filled his lungs and the darkness finally consumed him for the last time. He hoped that the void would not let him escape it's iron grip ever again.

Wilbur hoisted himself up onto the edge. His eyes never left the water. Dangling his legs, he sat down on the thick stone. His heartbeat pounded in his ears a steady rythym, some Morse code with no translation because he'd never learned the language. He knew it was from nerves. Why? Why was he nervous? Didn't he 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 this? Didn't he travel for so long just to get here?

He shuffled around, hands gripping the rails so hard his knuckles were turning white. If he just moved forward and let go, he'd fall below the water and never resurface. Now, all he needed was the push and he'd be gone and 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 he really should've left a note of some kind-

𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦.

He laughed humorlessly. When did his the voice get so 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭? Didn't it want him to die, didn't it want him gone? To finally do some good for everyone and just not get back up when he fell? Let himself wither, allow the water to whisk him away and pull him from this world? To sink him deep, deep down to the bottom?

The voice had more than one type of opinion. That was okay. It was fine. Will could take a moment to breathe. He wasn't in a rush. Rushing this would make it hard, and messy, and Wilbur was a total mess but he could manage to make his exit a little cleaner.

He was in no hurry. He could enjoy the last few minutes in hell. It was a nice second to take it in for the final time. He'd be gone soon enough, no need to be hasty.

He listened to the river, the strange lack of cars and people, and the footsteps- wait, 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘴?

"Wilbur?"

Oh, for 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬'𝘴 sake.

An exasperated groan spilled from his lips.

"Good 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 God, can't a man just die in peace?"

A sharp inhale came from somewhere behind him. A moment later, an American (𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯?) voice called out to him softly. "Hey, Will."

"..What? What do you want?" Wilbur wasn't getting down. There was no way he was going back now.

"Wilbur, I want you to get down from the edge, and come over here. Trust me, it's better over here." 

"Is it, though?" 

"Yeah, it is. Believe me, it is." 

"..Hate to break it to you, Dream, but you haven't been in England for long. The view's better from this spot, I would know."

"Well, if you come down here, we can go somewhere much better than here? Doesn't that sound nice?" Gods, that sounded nice. He didn't belong anywhere but here, though. No matter how shaky he was getting and how fucking- how fucking starved he was, affection wise. (Everything wise, but that wasn't important.) 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳, the voice reminded, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵.

"I don't deserve it." He admitted quietly.

"You do. I swear on everything that you do." Pure desperation. Funny, how just a few minutes ago, he was using the exact same tone, pleading to someone who couldn't hear him.

In a small burst of anger, Wilbur swiveled around. Now, his legs dangled from the other side of the stone, hands now gripping the other edge. Tired, broken, dull chocolate eyes met bright, subtly horrified, lime green. Wilbur furrowed his brows.

"Why, Dream? Why? Why can't you let me do one good 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 thing for once?" His voice was cracking and breaking and 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 but he persisted. "I just want to do this one thing- just one! One good fucking thing and you can't grant me that? I somehow matter so much to you, so you just can't let me go?" Unbidden tears rose, and Will didn't have the drive to force them down. He was so tired.

It seemed Dream was having similar issues, because his gaze grew glossy but his eyes stayed trained on the person in front of him. The two men were maybe five or six feet away from each other, give or take. Dream studied him intensely, caring and cautious and so fucking familiar to the Brit that it made Wilbur want to rip his hair out and cry in frustration. 

"Wilbur, you mean so, 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 to all of us. God, Will, you are so important to me and all of our friends and your family. I want you to come with me, we can go get something to eat and figure this out together, okay?"

This was supposed to be 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺, goddamnit. Before he could even register what he was doing, the exact sentence ripped itself from his mouth. He was fully crying now, arms gripping themselves as he almost curled in on himself.

"This was supposed to be 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺, goddamnit." He cried out, upset and confused and broken, "Why can't you just let this be easy, huh? What's fucking 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 with me? Can't even off myself in my own isolation, can't even just push the razor deep enough to work, so I just-" Wilbur paused, breathing. Dream made no move to interrupt. "I come all the way out here, hours away from my house so I can die out in the open, I'm such a pathetic attention whore, everyone was right about me, all of them, I-" 

His head fell down, and he moved his arms to support the weight. His elbows rested on his knees, furiously wiping at his eyes that just would not stop 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. He should hire a mantienence guy to fix them. Hah. As if.

"I'm so 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥." Wilbur sat up straight, moving his hands from his face. He smiled wobbily at Dream, tears still streaming. Closing his eyes, he moved backwards. "Just let me sleep, Clay. Tell the gremlin I love him." 

Faster than he could register, time moved. He fell backwards, he was grabbed by hands, he was pulled up, then Dream and him were on the hard floor of the bridge. Dream was trembling, both of the men breathing hard. The blonde had an arm wrapped around Wilbur, another holding the brunet's head close to his chest. Will could hear the fast-paced pound of Clay's heart. Despite the fact that Wilbur was two inches taller, he felt protected and safe curled into his side.

"I.. I'm telling you, the view's better over here, I just had to show you." A shaky laugh and poor attempt at lightening the mood just made Wilbur cry harder. Clutching the front of his hoodie, the Brit sobbed, shoulders shuddering and chest stuttering with his erratic breathing. Dream ran his hand through the brunet's hair. It was comforting. Safe.

"It's okay, I've got you, it's okay. I'm not letting you go, I'm staying right here." Dream sat up, still holding Wilbur to his chest. Wilbur faintly heard footsteps, another voice, and then more steps. Clay began talking, the deep rumble of his chest soothing Will.

He wanted to sleep. He was so tired. 

"It's okay George.. almost.. caught him.. Phil.." Wilbur caught bits and pieces of the conversation, but he was already slipping away to the realm of sleep.

This time, he didn't know if he wanted to stay asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if I get anything wrong. I'm not from England. I have some knowledge of locations, currency, culture, etc from my British friends and I'm running on low steam right now so please let me know what I got wrong, though I'm not promising to change any of it, at least not right away.
> 
> I may add another chapter, who knows:)


	3. 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream's take on the events at Richmond Bridge. Oh, George and Dream also have to figure out what to do with the depressed, suicidal man passed out in the backseat, too. Dream sends a text to the wrong Discord chat. People are called and suddenly train tickets are bought. (With or without permission from certain people.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ Suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, self harm, thoughts of low self worth, panic, swearing

When George invited Dream to England for a few weeks stay, he expected a lot of laughter and banter, for George to show him all around England and to rob London of its rest with their incessant energy and bright chuckles. He expected the late night talks and the streams that felt lighter than ever before. He expected the wet and cold as 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 English weather. Dream knew he was in store for midnight shop trips and walks around the great country. The movie marathons and cuddles and hugs. He was prepared for maybe a tense moment or two, at the very most, and the apologies soon to follow from the both of them. He wanted a moment to recreate the vlog pictures, and to finally take Wilbur on that stupid pizza date that his friend had promised him.   
Needless to say, the Floridian was 𝘯𝘰𝘵 expecting to literally tear one of his friends from their death, a death they were desperately chasing.

Dream knew, beforehand, that 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 was up with Wilbur. He knew in the way the brunet would force himself to smile and laugh, the way that he'd always be "busy" and politely decline calls. It became normal for Will to answer a message from several hours before with a short, vague text. Wilbur hadn't even posted a video or started a live stream in 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨. Dream knew he had had mental health issues, he knew that Wilbur was better than he had been in years but 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 kept tugging Dream to text him more, to make a conscious effort to call and be there for the former because, even while they weren't the closest, the blonde would be 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘥 before he let one of his friends, the genuinely amazing and inspiring Wilbur Soot, fall off the deep end. He wouldn't let that happen. Not on his watch.

So, one day, he pulled Wilbur aside for a private call. They talked; Will denied, Clay pushed, the Brit cracked, and the Floridian comforted. They discussed therapy and possible hotlines 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦. Wilbur made a point to say how useless the numbers would be. He said he'd be okay, that he was just hitting a rough patch and he would talk to Dream if it got worse. The younger had insisted that even if it stayed the same, he wanted updates, because being stagnant in that situation was very unhealthy and if shit didn't get better, then he was about to make it his top priority. Wilbur scoffed at that, but a smile was clear in his voice.

A few days passed, and no one heard from Wilbur.  
Dream had a sinking feeling that his trip to England wasn't going to stay as happy as he would've liked.  
He wasn't expecting 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, though.  
\--  
Dream was simply walking around the streets of Richmond with George, the short brunet taking him to several different shops and tourist areas. The taller of the two was thoroughly enjoying the chaotic but familiar dynamic. They had just escaped the terror of some old, angry guy in his car. It was not a narrow escape by any means, but their blood was still pumping.

"Dude- dude," Dream managed in-between laughs, "That- that grandpa was gonna run us over, oh my god, old British people are scary! Wh-"

"Dream, 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮, holy shit- we- he was going to 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 us and you're worried about the pile of dust he'll be in a few years? Jesus." George was still laughing, his loud giggle ringing throughout the streets. Clay couldn't help but chuckle. "Is this what the Queen's like? A fucking- fucking ancient being that drives way too fast for an elderly woman but would most likely keel over at a papercut?"

"I can hear Tommy from here. Watch yourself, Dream, or some angry, old man is going to break your stupid, American fingers." George threatened, though the actual threat itself was diluted by the amount of amusement in the Brit's voice.

"What, is some 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦-"

"DREAM! Don't you 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 finish that, I swear. I can't believe you know that word, Jesus. Who's been teaching you that stuff, Wilbur?" George joked, but Dream couldn't really laugh along this time. The silence that settled after the jab made the younger sigh. "I'm sorry for killing the mood, George." The older shook his head, "No, that was my bad. That was in pretty poor taste, really, I shouldn't have mentioned him. I know it's a tense subject right now, especially for you." That made Clay look over at his friend, eyes widen in surprise. George met it with a small glint in his own, though his smile was melancholy. "I can tell it's getting to you, it's pretty obvious, honestly. What, did you really think I wouldn't notice?" A small chuckle. The curl of George's lips started to tilt downwards.

"Did.. did you- ugh, how do I word this?" The Brit mumbled to himself at the end, confusing the American more. George moved his hands around in a very miserable attempt at communicating.

Eventually, he slumped over and gave up, looking up to remeet the other's eyes and raising his voice, "Did Wilbur, did he ever.. talk to you, about, you know.. 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 things?" Clay felt a heavyweight chain itself to his heart, and it sank down to the depths of the ocean at the words. Swallowing, he casted his glance downwards. After a moment, he caved. "Yeah, he did." 

"Fuck," the shorter breathed, moving his gaze to the 'clear' sky. "What do we- what do we 𝘥𝘰, Clay? I mean, what if he-"

"𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵," Dream pleaded, head snapping up. George startled. He closed his eyes, paused in his walking. "Don't, George, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦." His voice was strained, that much was obvious. George's tone was cautious, worried as he said, "Okay, okay I won't. I'm sorry. H- here, i'll go get us some drinks and some food, how about you head over to the river? I'm pretty sure Richmond Bridge is over here somewhere. We can just sit there and take a moment to chill." 

Dream's throat felt like it was clogged, closing up and cutting off his voice so he just nodded an affirmative. George reluctantly parted ways with him as they wondered down different streets.

The blonde maneuvered his way over to the River Thames, scanning the paths for any bridges. Surely enough, a few minutes later, he spotted it just a few hundred yards away. He started his slow trek down to the crossover, thoughts overwhelming him.

𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘶𝘱, 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘺. Groaning, he rubbed the side of his face with a sleeve. "Yeah, I know." He grumbled in annoyance. If anyone saw him talking to himself, they would think he was insane. He wasn't so sure that he wasn't, honestly. How could he be having fun in London with one of his friends when another one was literally suffering in his own pit of despair just a little over an hour away? How could he have let Wilbur down so hard when he knew what the brunet was going through? Sane people didn't do that stuff, right?

Surely enough, his thoughts had consumed him long enough to make the walk to the bridge a little more suffocating. Nevertheless, he had arrived and stepped up onto the platform. Honestly, Dream was very surprised by the lack of people. The bridge seemed like it would be a rather occupied spot, all things considered. Well, it appeared that they would be claiming the walkway for the night, because Dream very much doubted that he wasn't going to be sat down by George and forced to talk about.. well, everything. He just hoped he could find a way to convince the Brit to let them make a surprise stop at Brighton next. To meet up with Phil and, maybe, if they found 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 address, they'd check up on lil' ole Wilby. You know, just to finish up their rounds with everyone and have a little chat with him.

There was someone else on the bridge.

Clay was not raised dealing a lot of traumatic and depressing events, he had had a fairly easy and simple life when it came to those sorts of subjects. Yes, plenty of his friends had mental health problems and he had plenty of experience in the panic attack and depression departments, whether it was him going through the shit or someone else he was very close to. He had paid attention in health class and during PSAs where someone sat down and talked about suicide and self harm. He had the luxury of never seeing the taking of one's life, or any attempt to. 

Or, he 𝘩𝘢𝘥 had that luxury.

Sitting on the railing, a man in a thin jacket and a black, worn beanie stared down at the water below the bridge. His back was to Dream, legs and feet dangling over the edge. Now, Clay wouldn't have bothered the guy, he wouldn't have questioned if the stranger just really liked to live on the edge and was just enjoying himself, (and laughing really weirdly,) if the person perched on the rails wasn't 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳. The Brit seemed to be lost in his own world, and Dream began to approach him. He thought back to that laugh, the strangely familiar figure. There was absolutely no fucking way, nope, he was just being a weirdo, imagining things, how-

"Wilbur?"

He needed to know. Just to be sure. He 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 didn't want to be right about this.

An exasperated groan. "Good 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 God, can't a man just die in peace?"

Clay gaped at the man in front of him, drawing a breath in sharply. No. 𝘕𝘰. 𝘕𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘺. There was absolutely 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘺 that this was real. Christ, his best friend he was just freaking about was in front of him, 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, but he didn't 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 to be.   
Instead of rushing forward, yanking Wilbur off the rails, and pulling him into a hug he'd never be allowed to leave ever, he exhaled quietly. Steadily. Dream would get his friend out of this, if it was the last fucking thing he did. He'd vault over the rails and dive into the river right after Wilbur if he fucking had do. He silently begged not to have to.

"Hey, Will." He called out softly.

"..What? What do you want?" The Brit snapped back, voice tired and 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦. It hurt Dream to hear it coming from his friend, coming from 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 situation. It hurt Dream that this situation was even happening in the first place. What the hell was he going to do?   
𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵, 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. Yeah, that was probably his best bet. Time to test his communication skills. He hoped he had paid attention enough during those classes to do this.

"Wilbur, I want you to get down from the edge, and come over here. Trust me, it's better over here." Clay coaxed, tone attempting to sound normal, just a little more gentle and friendly. He would say that, with the amount of panic he was feeling, he was doing a damn good job. 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵. 𝘍𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴. Right. He needed to focus.

"Is it, though?" 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.

"Yeah, it is. Believe me, it is." 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘎𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘯𝘰, 𝘯𝘰, 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-

"..Hate to break it to you, Dream, but you haven't been in England for long. The view's better from this spot, I would know." His voice was hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in days. It probably hadn't. The scariest part of it was that the Floridian couldn't read him. His tone wasn't 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘵, but it wasn't 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭, either. His voice wasn't shaky, but it wasn't steady, either. He didn't know how to tell which route would be the best to take for this situation. What the hell was he even 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨? Shaking that thought away, he remembered that, hey, maybe 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 to the guy who was literally trying to 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦 would help stop the current event taking place.

"Well, if you come down here, we can go somewhere much better than here? Doesn't that sound nice?" 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦. If Will didn't get down from that railing, if he even 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 to slip off the edge, Clay was going to kill someone. Hug his friend for a few centuries first, but eventually he'd kill someone. (Preferably anyone and everyone who had made the Brit feel this was the only way.)

Wilbur hesitated in his response, and Dream wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. 𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. "I don't deserve it." Will spoke quietly, almost a whisper in the wind. Clay was here to hear him, Dream was here 𝘧𝘰𝘳 him. 

"You do. I swear on everything that you do." Dream was getting borderline 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 here, no, scratch that, he was already 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦. The brunet wasn't listening, he was still on the literal edge, and if Clay failed at being a good friend, if the person in front of him didn't make it to see sunrise, he didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't know what he was already doing. He had to keep going, though. He had to.

After a moment's pause, the brunet swerved his body around and Dream did 𝘯𝘰𝘵 have a miniature heart attack because, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬, Will was not treating that rail like it was the only thing keeping him from a very hard fall into deep, icy water. Anger was dark in the Brit's chocolate, broken eyes. Clay felt a sharp pang in his heart. He missed a warm, thoughtful mocha and an easy, bright grin. He missed his Wilbur, his best friend. Dream had an inkling that he was meeting Will Gold's gaze for the first real time. It horrified him, it 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 him.

"Why, Dream? Why? Why can't you let me do one good 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 thing for once?" His voice was completely shattered, cracking and breaking in every word but he pulled through in favor of yelling at the blonde. "I just want to do this one thing- just one! One good fucking thing and you can't grant me that? I somehow matter so much to you, so you just can't let me go?" Tears spilled from Will's eyes, and Dream felt his own well up with emotions and pain because this was a 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 stressful situation. 

He studied the brunet, eyes tracing his face and deciphering his body language. Clay wasn't sure what to make of it, Wilbur was hunched in on himself, shaking and shuddering himself apart. He looked so, 𝘴𝘰 tired. Dream was going to get this man somewhere cozy and sit with him so he could get some sleep. He wasn't leaving his side anytime soon, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

"Wilbur, you mean so, 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 to all of us. God, Will, you are so important to me and all of our friends and your family. I want you to come with me, we can go get something to eat and figure this out together, okay?" Dream wasn't sure if he was getting through, but he kept pushing and 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 because there was no way that, even for a second, he would let Wilbur have the time to think that he could just jump off and be done with it. Will was not going to die today, or tomorrow, or any time soon. Dream was sure of that, at least. 

Wilbur gripped his own arms tightly, eyes clenched shut as he fully folded in on himself, "This was supposed to be 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺, goddamnit. Why can't you just let this be easy, huh? What's fucking 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 with me? Can't even off myself in my own isolation, can't even just push the razor deep enough to work, so I just-" Wilbur paused. Dream stared at him in pure horror. When the 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 did things get so bad? "I come all the way out here, hours away from my house so I can die out in the open, I'm such a pathetic attention whore, everyone was right about me, all of them, I-" 𝘕𝘰, 𝘯𝘰, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

Will's head fell down, and he moved his arms to support the weight. His elbows rested on his knees, furiously wiping at his eyes. Dream silently stepped just a foot or two closer. He was getting a 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 bad feeling that he wasn't going to be wearing dry clothes for much longer. With any sort of luck, he'd reach the Brit before he fully started his descent. With any luck, he'd get the other down from there without any actual falling whatsoever.

Luck was not on his side, it seemed. "I'm so 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥." Wilbur sat up a little, wiping his eyes one last time. His smile was brittle and wobbiling and 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 that his smile 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 be. Now that the anger had vanished from his eyes, Dream could see just how dull and tired they were. Wilbur wasn't supposed to be dull, he wasn't broken. He wasn't tired in this way, he couldn't have been. The man in front of him said otherwise. Closing his eyes again, Will moved backwards. "Just let me sleep, Clay. Tell the gremlin I love him." 𝘕𝘰. 𝘕𝘰, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.

Dream's stomach dropped 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳.

Maybe it was just four or so feet, but the moment Will leaned backwards, Clay sprinted to close the distance, hastily grabbing onto the Brit and hoisting him back up. The sudden weight and speed sent both of them down to the ground. Pain shot up the blonde's spine. Clay's thoughts were strange mixes of 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳'𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, and 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 

The Floridian shook, trembling and 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. Dream had an arm around his friend and, with the other, held Wilbur's head close to his chest, his heart pounding and head screaming. It didn't matter how 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 he was, because Will was 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, here, lying halfway on Clay's torso. Adrenaline and fear coursed through every single vein in the younger's body. He felt lightheaded; from joy, from fear, from shock, maybe from all three. It was quiet for a second.

"I.. I'm telling you, the view's better over here, I just had to show you." He tried chuckling, attempted to lighten the impenetratably heavy mood. Dream expected the Brit to scream, to hit and yell and beg for Clay to let him die. It was a pleasant, albeit a bit 𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, surprise to just have Will curl up and sob, grasping the American's jacket with a knuckle-white grip. He blubbered intelligibly against Clay's chest, gasping for air and breaking Dream's heart for the hundredth time that day. The blonde carded his fingers through the brunet's hair, cooing into his ear and comforting him with gentle affection and soothing words. Wilbur was 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 to the touch. Dream was warm, though, so he sturdied his arm around the older and brought him in as close as he could. The blonde heard a car rumbling nearby. It stopped, then a door opened and closed. Footsteps. Looking to the side, he saw a certain British man approaching the bridge. 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘰, the American thought.

"It's okay, I've got you, it's okay. I'm not letting you go, I'm staying right here." He whispered softly to the man who was still attached to him, slowly sitting up. George and Dream made eye contact, and the latter watched as the former's gaze shifted to Wilbur. His eyes widened, and he abruptly stopped about 15 feet away from the pair on the ground. "Dream," he started slowly, voice breathy and face aghast. He slowly started shaking his head in confusion, stare turning back to the blond. "What..?" Clay took in a shuddering breath as the shorter continued his walk to the scene. 

"It's okay, George," he began, not even sure if he believed it himself, "Wilbur, he almost.." George gasped almost silently, but Dream heard it. "..he almost jumped off. I tried- I tried 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 to get him to come down on his own, but he- he fell backward and- I just-" His voice was raw with emotion, tears finally spilling over his eyes in steady streams. "I caught him, but he- he nearly-" George crouched down beside Dream, sitting on his legs and opening his arms in an invitation. Clay, with Wilbur still in his hold, fell into the other brunet's arms. He sat there, leaning into his best friend's embrace and sobbed silently, apart from the few hiccups and sniffles that slipped out. George shifted and he wrapped his arms around both of his friends. For a few long moments, they sat in silence. Clay began talking, voice muffled. "We need to talk to Phil. He'd know what to do, right?"

\--

Sometimes, George forgot that Clay was younger than him, but in these kind of moments, his heart squeezed in pain at the tone of his voice and his obviously inexperienced soul. Something inside of George told him to protect his best friend from the reality of the situation. George may not have ever been in this exact situation, but he wasn't exactly as 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 as Clay was with these types of subjects and topics. He'd had his fair share of suicidal friends, none of which ever succeeded, thank the Gods, and he knew what Dream was going through. He was going to be there for Dream, and he was going to be there for Wilbur, too.

He just wished he had gotten there sooner.

"Okay, Dream, we can call Phil in a little bit. I- I have to ask you some things, about Wilbur first, okay?" Clay nodded, tilting his face a little bit away from his friend's chest, making his voice clearer. "Yeah. what's up, George?" Clay's voice was shaky, but he seemed to be managing well enough. "Okay, did he talk about eating or anything like that?" Clay shook his head, and elaborated. "No, but he was.. really, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 light. I don't think he's been eating much." The unspoken 'at all' was heard by George. He took in a deep breath. "Okay, did he say anything about.. uhm," There was no way to out this lightly, so George just powered on. "-him hurting himself?" 

Dream's breathing hitched. The short brunet paled. "He, he said-" Clay clutched onto Will a little tighter. "He said he tried to- um, with- with razors." The Brit felt like he was going to faint. All this happened right underneath their noses? No one noticed well enough? George berated himself, 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥'𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥, because he 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥'𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥. That was in the past, though, and at this point, he had to focus on the two people in front of him, on the present. 

"..Okay, thank you Clay, let's- let's get Wilbur into my car, I parked it by the bridge. Can you help me get him to it?" Dream nodded. George 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 feeling like he was babying his friends, but was he? Was helping Clay get through a very stressful and pretty traumatic event while taking care of Wilbur, who just tried to 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, really babying anyone? The short brunet wasn't so sure that it was. So, as he (reluctantly) let go of Dream, he pushed away any unnecessary thoughts and feelings. He needed to prioritize Wilbur and Clay, and getting Will to safety. 

George had a feeling that their time in London was about to get a lot more serious than they could've ever imagined. He was going to be there. He was going to do whatever they needed. He didn't know what else to do.

The blonde lifted the musician up with ease, and his face dropped at the revelation. "He's- he's way too light, George, I-" Dream exhaled slowly. "Let's get to the car." 

\--

"George, where do we 𝘨𝘰?" Clay asked as his friend started the car, the engine roaring to life. "We- we're going to the hospital. They can check Wilbur out and make sure he gets back in good health." George eyed the blonde and other brunet through the rear-view mirror. His caramel-chocolate eyes were coated with a soft kind of pain, some strange mix between hurt and fond. Steering his gaze towards the road, the short brit in the front started driving them to the best hospital he could think of that wasn't too terribly far: St. Thomas's Hospital in London, which was about a 30 minute drive.

This time, as the car started down the streets of London, Dream couldn't find it in himself to joke about how George was driving on the wrong side of the road. He couldn't sit in shotgun, because 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 couldn't sit in shotgun with him. So, Dream sat in the back with an exhausted Wilbur quietly while George drove them to the hospital. The silence was nice for about five or so minutes, letting the two of them soak in the realness of the situation they were in. Eventually, the itch to pick up his phone and call Phil became too much for Clay.

"George, could I.." The brunet glanced at Dream through the rear-view mirror, a question clear in his gaze. He was patient, though, and he waited for his friend to find his words. "Can I.. can I call Phil?" As soon as George said "Go ahead, Dream, you don't need my permission", the blonde was fishing out his phone with one hand and pulling Wilbur closer with the other. A shaky hand opened Discord, seeing as he had yet to be given Phil's real phone number. Blurry eyes half scanned the list of group chats and private dms, looking for anything with Phil written on it. He randomly clicked a group chat that contained the older man and a few others that Clay couldn't be bothered to read the usernames of. Instead, he typed out a message.

Your Mother is a Woman

𝘐 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘸

𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘬𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘸 

𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦

——

Your Mother is a Woman

𝘐 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘸

𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘬𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘸

𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦

•𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒛𝒂•  
𝘰𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮

𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵

——

When Phil texted back, Clay felt the weight of the world leave his shoulders. Phil was older, he was wise, he was strong. He'd be able to help with Will, and maybe he would help Dream after the fact because, if the American somehow made it out of England alive, he had a feeling he would never get rest again. Not without the image of Wilbur on the rails plaguing every single moment.

"Phil's going to call." A nod. "Okay, Dream. If you need me to talk to him, I won't mind." A small smile. "I know, thanks." Ringing filled the car for 0.2 seconds. 

"Phil," Dream breathed out, putting the phone on speaker. "Phil, oh my god." George's posture instantly relaxed as the call picked up. The oldest of the three adults who were awake let out a small exhale.

"Dream, are you okay? Breathe." Clay did as he was instructed, taking in deep breaths. After a moment, Phil spoke up again. "Okay, Dream, what happened? Could you tell me? Take as much time as you need." Dream shakily began, "Uhm, I was going to the Richmond Bridge, the one on the- uh, Thames? Well, I saw someone sitting on the rails, and-" The American blonde squeezed Wilbur lightly with the arm he had wrapped around the brunet. "It was, um, it was- it was Wilbur."

Phil made no sound, listening intently. He was on mute, gathering his things as he got ready for the few hour drive over to London. He felt tears well up in his eyes as the young Floridian retold, with many details, Phil noticed, the events that had transpired only a few minutes prior to their call. Sniffling, Dream continued, "Will- he, I- I tried to convince him to get down, Phil, I- I tried to get him to come over to me but h-he," Clay sobbed, covering his mouth and dropping his phone in this lap. George reached behind him and patted Dream's knee, taking his phone and placing it on the centre console. 

"Dream, it's okay, breathe for a minute. I'm gonna talk to Phil, okay?" Dream nodded, letting his friend take control over the call. Keeping his eyes on the road, George began talking directly to the older Brit in the group. "Hey, Phil. Dream needs a moment." Phil quickly unmuted, reassuring the boys. "Hey, George. It's okay, I get it. Are you guys okay, though?" The brunet looked back at his friends, the wrecked state they were both in. George didn't feel too far off from it.

"No," he answered honestly. "No, we aren't. We'll be okay, Phil, but.. not right now." Phil was quiet for a beat. "Where are you headed?" George's eyes flickered to the different mirrors, noticing the quiet night. "We're headed to St. Thomas' Hospital." Phil blew out a breath, concerned. "All the way from Richmond? Are there no hospitals near you guys?" George had to scoff, though it wasn't out of malice or anger to Phil. He had a strange feeling that the older already knew that. Thank the Gods for Philza Minecraft. "None that are worth a damn. They're shit hospitals and I am 𝘯𝘰𝘵 taking Wilbur to a shitty hospital. It's just an extra 30 minutes, we're already halfway there. What time will you be here?" 

Phil hummed. "If you guys are on the way to St. Thomas, it'll only be an hour and.. 45, if I'm lucky. With traffic, I'm not sure. Do you guys need me to pick up anything?" George stole a glance back at Clay. "No, get whatever you need. I've got us covered." Phil insisted, "If you're sure, that's good, but don't hesitate to call if you need something." For the first time in what felt like forever, George genuinely smiled. "I know, Phil. We're about to be there, I'm gonna go ahead and let you go. We'll see you later." "Bye, George and Clay. Drive safe, mate."

George gave the phone back to Dream as he heard a faint 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘱 signalling the call's end. They weren't okay, far from it, but with Phil on the way and the hospital being only a few minutes away, George was fine with where they were at. Things were very fucked, case in point: Wilbur in his backseat and the crying mess that was Dream up against him. Shit was going down, but they would figure it out as it came. It was one step at a time, for now.  
George was okay with that.

\--

Tommy was 𝘯𝘰𝘵 okay with this. 

He was going to lose his goddamn mind if he spent another fucking minute in his room when he knew exactly where Wilbur was and what was happening. Well, he didn't know 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 what was going on, but he'd bet that he had a pretty damn good idea. He 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 the type of headspace Wilbur was in, and he 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 that he'd be a horrible friend if he stayed home while Dream, George, and Phil saved Will's 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 ass. Sure he was hours away from Richmond, and sure, he wasn't an actual adult like the others, but he couldn't sit back and watch his best friends handle the weight of the world all by themselves. It just wasn't in Tommy's nature, curse the stupid thing.

He listened to Dream when he said not to text Will yet, he wasn't an idiot. He knew that texting Dream, George, or Phil was 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 out of the question. They were busy helping Wilbur, and there was no way in hell that Tommy was going to distract them when Wilbur was at one of the bridges that the young blonde had specifically told him 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 to go to when he was dealing with those sorts of issues. The young streamer had a suspicion on why Will was there, and he was praying to every God that Techno always babbled about to prove him wrong. He was getting pretty fucking desperate here, and no one was going to be able to do anything about it except for himself. 

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺.

Well, he found an idea and he stuck to it. Hah, suck it, Wilbur, you can't get him out of your hair just yet.  
So, he grabbed his wallet, phone, and a jacket. Slipping on the hoodie, he moved with a practiced kind of silence down the stairs and out the front door. 𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘮𝘶𝘮, 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. He sent a text to his mum, knowing she was still alseep. "Going to visit a friend, I'll be back soon." He was 𝘴𝘰 going to get destroyed by Phil (and his parents), it was just a matter of time. Well, Wilbur should've listened to Tommy, so it wasn't too big of a concern.

With that, he was gone.

\--

Maybe he should've grabbed a snack 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 he got on the three hour train ride from good ole' Nottingham to Richmond. Maybe then he wouldn't be dealing with a starving stomach and lots of nerves. Maybe he should have consulted Tubbo or someone, god, 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 before jumping on the soonest train to Richmond. Well, 2/4 of his rational thoughts were currently on Richmond bridge as far as he knew, and the other two were mostly likely either completely unaware of what was happening or dead asleep. 

The train was strangely empty, save it for a few people scattered about. Tommy tucked himself in a corner near the back, phone turned off to save battery life because 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 getting all the way there and getting completely lost, or having to figure out where the group went, with no phone. 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴.

Tommy would call Phil once he got off the train, the older would tell him where they were. Would he be completely pissed and very upset? That was a very strong possibility. Tommy knew Phil, though. The older Brit wouldn't send him home, not after all of that and the fucking three hour train ride to Richmond. He'd be infuriated, most likely, but Tommy could deal with that when he came to it. It would be fine. He wasn't going to just turn back and wait for Phil to give him the thumbs up. There was no way that shit was happening.

Tommy sat there, on an empty stomach and very little sleep, for an hour and a half before he got 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘺 bored. Powering on his phone, he checked his battery life. "86%, huh?" He mumbled to himself. 86% was.. pretty damn good, honestly. If the young blonde wanted, he 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 call Tubbo and let the young brunet know what was going on. He was pretty sure that Tubbo wasn't in the group chat that Dream texted in, or if he was, he just had yet to check the dms. That sounded like a Tubbo thing to do. Scrolling over to Tubbo's user on Discord, Tommy clicked the call button, putting the phone close to his ear. "Come on, Tubs, pick up."

A groggy voice came through the phone. "Tommy? Why are you calling this late?" Tommy let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. "Okay, so, how much do you love me, Tubbo?"

Silence. "Are you being serious, Tommy? Are you streaming? Is this a bit?" Tommy sighed. "No, it's not a stream or a bit, big man. Answer it then I'll tell you what's going on."

"Okay, well, I love you a whole fucking lot, man, you're my best friend and I would never have it any other way. Now, what's going on?" Tommy grew a little warm from the words, and he smiled. He would never get used to the way his best friend cared about him. He had bigger issues, though.

"Well," Tommy began, messing with his hoodie strings, "Dream texted me, a few hours back. And, uh, he said something that kinda destroyed me." 

"..Is Dream pulling shit? I won't hesitate to kick his ass, I swear-" Tommy laughed, startled. "N-No, no- Tubbo it's- it's not like that." Tubbo prodded, tone cautious and gentle, "Okay, what was it like, then?"

It's just like a bandaid, you've just gotta rip it off.

"They found Wilbur." "...𝘖𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘥."

Tommy winced, "Yeah, they found him at Richmond Bridge, over Thames. I.. I don't know what's happening now but, Tubbo," He took in a deep breath, prepared for the lashout. "I, I may or may not have jumped on a train all the way from here to there and I'm currently sitting on said train and I'm really hungry and- uh, yeah." Tommy spoke quickly, in some strange way he was hoping Tubbo would be confused enough to 𝘯𝘰𝘵 yell at the young blonde.

"..You 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?" Okay, maybe Tommy 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 should've thought twice before buying that ticket, because if Tubbo was going to get pissed, he didn't even want to 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 about how 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭 would react. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

"Tommy, are you being serious right now?" The sleep was completely gone from the brunet's voice and Tommy was beginning to be sort of terrified.

"Tubbo," he paused. "100%."

"What the 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭, Tommy? You're on a train to Richmond right now?"

"Uh- yeah, yeah I am."

"I'm assuming your parents have no fucking clue?"

"I left a text message, that counts."

"That's not-" Tubbo blew out a breath. "Okay. Okay, Tommy. If your parents don't know, does anyone else besides me know?" Tommy closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. "No, Big Man, just you as of right now. I'm going to text Phil later, I just- I just wanted you to know." Tubbo didn't reply instantly. Tommy opened his eyes, studying the ceiling. "That's- uh, thank you, Tommy. I.. don't really know how to reprimand you on that." The blonde grinned, eyes bright, "You can't. I am 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 right and no one can correct my truth." 

"Of course, Tommy. Of course."  
\--  
The kid on the train was getting a little anxious, and maybe a little 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵. It had been a little over another hour, and he had only about 20 minutes left to go before his stop. He had yet to call Phil, and he had been on call with Tubbo the entire hour since he first picked up. His phone was standing on an impressive 63%, and he wasn't too worried about having to end the call. He was worried about how the hell he was going to tell Phil that he was about to be in Richmond. 

"People call us comfort streamers, yeah? Well, I'm gonna need some goddamn comfort food after this because, 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, Tubbo-"

"Well, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 you shouldn't have hopped on a train to a city 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺."

"..I don't need your logic, Tubbo, I need some help with telling the biggest man 'hey, I'm currently at the spot where you found wilbur. could you give me a lift?', because Phil's not exactly going to be happy with me."

A sigh. "Tommy, you should've thought about that before you got on the train. This is your battle, and I'm sure I'm on Phil's side more than I'm on yours. I love you, man, but you can't just go jumping on train rides to cities hours away in the middle of the night with no one knowing."

Tommy shifted in his seat, sighing. "I know, Tubbo, it was a very bad idea but, I just," He took in a deep breath. "I couldn't just sit there when Wilbur was hurting and very possibly trying to- to do something he swore he would never do, I can't just, I can't just 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 him, Tubbo." His voice wavered a bit at the end. Tubbo spoke softly, but honestly.

"Tommy, we are children. Literal children. Phil is an adult. Dream is an adult, and I'm guessing George is there but he is, too. Wilbur is an adult. This is an adult situation, something that they can handle. I don't know if you've noticed, but you are 16 and I'm 17. We're not supposed to be dealing with this stuff, that's why Phil, Dream, and George are taking care of Wilbur right now. I get that it's hard to sit on the sidelines, but sometimes, it's for the best."

Tubbo and his infinite wisdom. Some day, Tommy would get absolutely sick of it. Right now, it was a truth he needed to hear. He was grateful, even if it brought up some.. infuriating points. He shouldn't have ever left the house, much less the city.

"I've really fucked up this time, haven't I?" "Yeah, you have. I'm sure you can handle it, considering Phil is an adult and he'll know what to do once you're there. Just.. just listen to him, okay? He has very strong points." 

"I know he does. I have to talk to him now."

"Good luck, Tommy. Tell me how it goes, okay?"

"Alright. See you, Tubbo," then he added, "you are a bitch."

"I know I am. Now, fuck off." Tubbo left the call.  
It was just Phil. Phil wasn't 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 scary- 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, Tommy was going to get murdered by Philza Minecraft.   
•𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒛𝒂•  
𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚  
𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸

•𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒛𝒂•  
𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸.

𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚  
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵. 𝘐𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘴.

Completely radio silence for a moment. Then Phil texts back,

•𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒛𝒂•  
𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦.

Maybe, Tommy should've thought twice before jumpng on the nearest train. Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm projecting hard onto George/Phil in this one, Christ. I felt like George and Phil, since they are older, deserved a chance to be the ones carrying the situation and helping the younger people because, hey, they have pretty good experience and no one really writes them like this much, even though they are older than most people they are written with.
> 
> "🥺🥺🥺", I hope that the next few chapters fill your needs for comfort. Your comment is now my drive to make more hurt/comfort in this book. I genuinely enjoyed our three comment interaction, I will never be the same. But, seriously, you guys are all so supportive, like, i- I'm not super proud of my writing, especially in the first chapter, so I may go back and rewrite it, but I genuinely love seeing your comments and making a story you guys can enjoy.
> 
> You guys want some fun facts??? Yeah??? Pog.
> 
> Fun fact: I originally planned on Phil or Tommy finding Will, and I had two routes. They were either going to get him away from the railing safely or Will was actually going to get what he had been wishing for :) 
> 
> Fun Fact 2: While writing this chapter, Where Are The Askers played during the Dream thinks about Wilbur scene at the very beginning; I Wanna See Some Ass played during Dream's walk and the beginning of the Dream and Wilbur meet scene; finally, lalala and Blitz played during Wilbur's actual attempt. I've been listening to Wilbur, Jack Stauber, + Current Joys for the other chapters, but this bad boy? Oh no, this one was special.
> 
> Fun fact 3: I wrote the George, Will, and Dream's hug at Richmond Bridge scene with Jubilee Line playing and I cried :')
> 
> Fun fact 4: Taswell played as soon as I started writing Phil's texts. Volume Alpha and Beta music is still playing. The universe knows, man.


	4. 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Phil have a lovely chat. Dream contemplates what the hell has been happening. George has a moment alone with his thoughts. Everyone's dealing with it. This time, Wilbur is the one sleeping through the important plot points.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, implied/referenced self harm, swearing, dissociation
> 
> know that you are loved <333

Tommy was, to put it bluntly, utterly fucked. Phil was going to be practically pulling his hair out on call, - he _did_ have a pretty bad habit of tugging his hair, it was something Will, Tommy, and him all shared - and the younger was already obviously ashamed of his decision and regretting it deeply. Maybe he shouldn’t have cursed at Phil while texting him. _Oops_ . The phone call was going to go _swimmingly_ , and he was _totally not dead_. He mentally reminded himself to tell that to Tubbo after the fact. He was sure that the shorter already knew without hearing a single millisecond of it. 

It made it so much worse that _Tommy_ was the one who had to initiate it. Phil was most likely not on the road, but for some God awful reason, he told Tommy that _he_ had to call the older, and because you simply don’t argue with Philza Minecraft in one of these situations, he had to. Fucking prick. Giving the young streamer even more anxiety to ride on was _not_ the kindest route to take. It was some sort of punishment, he assumed. _Kill me now, please,_ he pleaded. He humoured the thought that if he didn’t call, Phil wouldn’t force him to endure the hell that was going to be that conversation. He knew better, though, believe it or not. He was pretty stupid, but he wasn’t _that_ stupid.

Shaking hands messed with a screen as he moved to call Phil. He was genuinely terrified. Was the adult going to yell at him? Most likely. Was Tommy going to feel like crying even more than he already did? Oh, definitely. Would Tommy cry? _Like a baby_ , his mind chipped. He ignored that thought and pressed the call button before he could talk himself out of it, shutting his phone off and holding it to his ear. Something told him that he wouldn’t need to put it on speaker at all. It picked up not even two rings later. Tommy took in a deep breath, although his chest was constricted and his throat was clogged. He silently begged not to cry on call with fucking Philza Minecraft. That’s something a pussy would do, and Tommy was _not_ a pussy. Did pussies jump on trains to cities hours away without a second thought? Nope, only idiots. 

“Tommy.” That voice was dangerous. The young Brit was in for it. “Phil.” Another intense moment of silence. Phil broke it. “What the _hell_ are you doing, Tommy?” He spoke in a low, sharp tone. It had Tommy _scared out of his mind._ He was actually fucking trembling. He had heard the older speak like that before, but _never_ at him. Never at _Tommy._ How did he even get here? How does one make such a monumental mistake? How was he _this_ bad at making good choices? How did he continue to, without pause, do what he always did: fuck up miserably? 

He felt his lungs stop functioning, refusing to take in enough air. His breath was in short, uneven puffs, and Tommy prayed that Phil couldn’t hear it. It’d be embarrassing as fuck. “I-” His voice was cracking, so he stopped. His voice was a little less shaky, “I’m sorry.” “Sorry doesn’t _cut it right now_ , Thomas, you know that.” Phil fumed. Tommy tensed at the use of his full first name. This was worse than he thought. “I know, I know it doesn’t, Phil, I-” The older cut him off. “Do you, Tommy? _Do_ you? Don’t you get what’s going on? “ His voice leaked poison, it radiated heat and stress and so much pain. It made the young blonde flinch. “This is something you can’t just jump into, this is something that’s too heavy for you and you shouldn’t be involved right now. You’re a _child,_ and you should be at home until things get better and until you’re _actually allowed_ to come visit. Jesus Christ, you do know how hard this is, right? You do know that coming to see Will in his current state isn’t going to do any good for _anyone_ , right? You do know that running from home in the middle of the night was a stupid move, right? Seriously, Tommy. Use that brain of yours, I know that you know you’re better than this!”

The young brit’s eyes stung. He tried again, “I’m so sorry, Phil.” He stated quietly. He wasn’t sure what else to say. Phil was _right,_ but it hurt _so much more_ than Tom would _ever_ have been able to imagine. “Tommy, you’re sorry, okay, but you are _still_ in Richmond and you’re _still_ hours away from your house _and_ you’re pretty far from us. What if someone hurts you? What if someone decides that the young kid alone at the train station is an easy target and they just up and _take_ you? What _then,_ Tommy? _What then?_ We wouldn’t be able to _help_ you, we wouldn’t know what to do. _I_ wouldn’t know what to do with myself if that happened, Tommy, _please._ How would I break that news to your parents? Your mum would wake up and see you _gone_ and she wouldn’t know what to do. If you got snatched away, I wouldn’t be able to come rescue you. Wilbur would ask to talk with you and you wouldn’t be able to pick up. You would be hurt and I _can’t_ let you get hurt, Toms, _please,_ you can’t just _do_ this stuff.” Tommy’s heart stopped at his tone and words. The situation quickly became so much scarier. If the young Brit had learned anything, it was that _what ifs_ quickly became reality more times than not. The thought of Tubbo, Techno, Wilbur - Gods, _Wilbur -_ having to handle that, the thought of having to _go through_ that, it made his breath hitch. When Phil finally took pause, Tommy blindly stumbled into his words, not necessarily caring about _what_ came out, but more so the fact that something _had_ , in fact, come out.

“I fucked up, Phil. I _know_ I fucked up. I shouldn’t have ever left my house, I shouldn’t have gotten on the train, and I shouldn’t be in Richmond. I have _no_ excuse and I _know_ that, i just-” He sniffled, dam finally breaking. His voice was broken and thick with tears. He stuttered and hiccuped through his lament. “I was- I- I _am_ scared. I'm really, _really_ scared. I’m so, _so_ sorry that i’m fucking things up and I _know_ Wilbur needs you and not me, but-” He took in a stuttering breath. “I was fucking _terrified_ that I wouldn’t ever see him again. I still am. He talked to me, about his mental health and he- he _swore_ that he’d never go to a bridge and try that but he _did_ and I- I can’t- I can’t watch that _happen_ , Phil. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done this, I shouldn’t have bothered you, and I’m sorry. I’m _so sorry._ ” He covered his mouth, sobbing quietly into his sleeve that covered his palm. 

The other end of the line was silent for a good moment. Phil’s voice came back much more gentle and cautious, still hurt but in a different way. “Oh, Tommy _,”_ He began, soft and careful. “- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled like that. I’m just worked up right now but that’s no excuse to freak you out. You can’t do that to me, though, Tom. I’m really, _really_ worried right now. About both you and Will. Neither of you should have to go through this.” He chuckled humorlessly. “You’re one scary child, you know. Are you there, Tommy?” Tommy smiled wobbly at the comment. Phil wasn’t perfect, but he was still trying and doing amazing in the teen’s eyes. “I- I’m here, Big Man. I’m still here.” Tommy wiped away the trails of tears down his face. “I get that you’re scared,” Phil sighed quietly. “I think we all are.”

The two Brits sat there, breathing in the air from two different places. Things were so very far from okay, but they’d make it. Together. They had to. Tommy looked around the practically empty train he was currently sitting in.

It felt as though England put itself on pause for Wilbur, as if everything else in the world could wait because the bright man was dimming out and the world would never be able to handle that. God knew Tommy couldn’t. He’d fan the dying embers and nurse that flame back to its original size. He’d keep the fire going no matter what it meant he had to do. It was the least he could do. Wilbur deserved the fucking _universe_ , no, he deserved _so much better_ . The world should be on its knees, begging and praying for Will to stick around because it never fucking deserved him. His bright, warm smile and loving, affectionate words. Those deep, rich eyes and his buttery smooth voice that had the angels hanging their heads in shame because they couldn’t come close to him in a million years. His music, his poetry, his _acting_ , oh, his acting. Look out, Emily Blunt, because Will was a godsend actor. Wilbur’s humour and his laughter and his _everything._ Tommy was unable to name any one or thing that was better. Wilbur inspired him, he encouraged him, he entertained him, he _loved_ him. The older Brit’s love was something completely otherworldly. It was an addiction, he always made people want to be around him and in his life. He made people want to be better. He made Tommy want to be _better._ The young blonde would never be who or where he was without the influence of the other. No one was like William Gold, no one could ever come close. Well, actually, Tommy _could_ name a few people who affected him just as much as the other Brit did, - His parents, Phil, Tubbo, Techno, Schlatt, and many others - but they didn’t do it the same way Will did. They had their own special ways. No one was like Wilbur, though. Not at all.

If whatever shitty God that was up there thought that it could take Will away from him, well, it was _dead fucking wrong._ If Wilbur thought he could escape the storm that was Tommy, well, he was very incorrect as well. The younger would be there to remind him every day of their lives. Today would be the start of that, he guessed.

“How’s Will?” Tommy asked quietly, head resting against the headrest of his seat, eyes mindlessly sweeping across the ceiling. Phil’s breathing stilted momentarily, before he decided, “I think we should wait to talk about that until you get here, mate. We should focus on how to get you here, first. Okay?” The young blonde hummed in acknowledgement. He trusted Phil, he would get the young Brit home safely. He’d get him to _Wilbur_ safely, it was only a matter of time.

“Tommy, are you already in Richmond?” “Uh- yeah, yeah, but I’m still on the train. I’m only, like, 10 minutes from Richmond Station? Something like that. When will you get here?” A bit of something desperate slipped through Tommy’s voice. He was scared of pissing off Phil again, but he was more scared of the shit he had gotten himself into. He just wanted to be sitting in a room with a recovering Wilbur and his best friends, just talking about anything and everything. He wanted to see and talk to and _hug_ Wilbur for the rest of his life. Suddenly, he wasn’t so worried about not streaming for a while. He was going to need a break after this. No Twitter dot com for him either, oh _hell_ no. Phil pulled him from his thoughts. “I’ll be there in about half an hour, Toms. Sit tight at the station for me, okay?” Tommy hummed an affirmative. After a moment of silence, Tommy felt a bit of panic roll over him. “W- Wait, could you-” He clenched his right hand subconsciously. “Please don’t go.” He whimpered. Soft concern and worry radiated from his phone. “Of course, Tommy. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here on call, okay? We’ll be there before you know it.” That soothed Tom’s nerves, but then it made him stop as soon as he realized, “ _We?_ ” Phil’s end was quiet for a moment before an American voice filtered through. “Uh- hey, Tommy.” 

“Dream?” There was _no way, please_ , tell him there was _no_ way. A sheepish voice proved him very wrong. “I’m here, Tommy. I- uh, kind of have been.” Tommy froze completely, mouth agape and eyes similar to that of an owl’s. After a second of contemplating what to say, he settled for an exasperated, “Oh my fucking _god_ , I cried on call with Dream _and_ Philza at the _same time,_ someone actually kill me right now.” Wheezes filled his ears and he felt the corners of his lips tug upwards. He decided to keep with the bit, it would kill some time, at the very least. “No, I don’t think you need to pick me up from the station anymore. I’m just going to curl up into a ball and ride the train until I finally die from the pain of my embarrassment.” The two others on the call just laughed harder. Dream piped up, “No, T-Tommy, please,” His wheeze weaved in between his words. “I want to pick on you in person, please.” Fake anger salted the young blonde’s voice. “ _No_ , you’ve lost your teasing privileges, asshole,” A muffled _we had those?_ could be heard from Phil’s end of the call. Tommy ignored it. “No more, I’m not sorry, Dream, because you are a big _bitch,_ and I don’t associate with bitches of that caliber. Or, bitches at all. In fact, I think I should go ahead and block you right now. See how you’ll get your views now when I’m not on the Dream SMP,” He made sure to put emphasis on every letter at the end. “Because, I can assure you, they’ll be very low.” Phil’s laugh lifted Tommy’s heart a little. “Toms, play nice, okay? No- No threatening of livelihoods, please.” Tommy groaned, but was internally grateful for the way they kept using his name. It kept him grounded when he felt the dread and panic creeping up and threatening to begin their attack. He had this sneaking suspicion that they knew what they were doing. He’d have to thank them after he was done lifting their spirits a bit. They all needed it.

\--

Dream wasn’t doing too great, if he was being honest. Well, that was a big fucking understatement. Clay was overwhelmed, tired, scared as hell, and hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since around 4pm, and when his friend went to get them food before the bridge fiasco, George didn’t exactly get a full course meal. The blonde was also _still_ recovering from his jet lag, though it was barely even there anymore. It was still an _ungodly_ hour of the night and he just wanted to pass out in the uncomfortable hospital chair he’d parked himself in the moment he came into the recovery room an hour ago. Maybe then he’d wake up from the utter nightmare that was today.

George wasn’t doing much better at all. The brunet was camped out in a different chair, deep in thought at the foot of the bed Wilbur was lying on. Wilbur, the man who just attempted to take his own life, the missing laugh and guitar strums and gentle voice in Discord calls, their _friend._ Things simply weren’t the same without him around and now, they knew _why._ Why growing pits had settled into everyone’s stomachs the moment he stopped responding. Why Tommy had called them at 4 in the morning, hyperventilating and panicking from what they originally assumed was a nightmare, but later found was a panic attack from spiralling about his older pseudo-brother. Tommy knew something about Will that the others didn’t, but he didn’t mention it, whatever it was. Now, he had an idea of what it was. It made him sick.

“I just don’t get it,” Dream whispered quietly. George scooted his chair closer to the American’s, setting a hand gently on his arm. Clay gave him a weary smile before it dissolved into a tight line as his watery eyes landed back on Wilbur’s sleeping form. “I don’t get it at all.” The young blonde’s brows furrowed as he scanned over the musician’s arms. They were slashed and bruised and covered in cuts. Some were small, white lines that could be played off as scratches and would disappear by the end of the week. Others were deep scars meant to kill - or come close to it - that would simply rest on his skin, embedded in his flesh, in his soul, for eternity. _All_ of them would hold the same weight and pain, no matter how long they were visible. 

“I don’t think I ever will,” Dream’s vision blurred but the image was imprinted in his mind. “and if I do, I doubt it’ll be a good thing.” George’s eyes burned, but he willed the tears away. Now was not the best time to shatter. He could wait. The need to cry could hold its fucking horses because his friends needed him and he was fully capable of being strong for them. He could handle it. He _would_ handle it, for them and for himself. He had to.

A door shut quietly somewhere behind them, and George knew who it was. Blame it on the stress he was feeling or the slow pull from reality he was experiencing, but the short brunet didn’t exactly have the energy to greet Phil, even though the man had done far more for them than he really should’ve, in George’s mind. The Brit was grateful for him, though, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop being that way. The blonde Brit was older than the rest of them by a large margin, and he had the most life experience by a long shot. George may have gone through some shit before, but it wasn’t the same as Phil, and it wouldn’t be for a while. This situation was definitely putting him a step closer, he thought bitterly.

“Hey, mates,” Phil spoke gently, and George could feel his understanding gaze glossing over the three younger boys. “I spoke to the doctors, Will is gonna be here for a few days. Then, we can get a mental hospital sorted out to help him recover. They said we can stay for as long as WIlbur’s here, and we can run in and out if we need to.” His light steps broadcasted his trek over to the hospital bed to the duo, his warm, vanilla rose aura filling the room. It calmed George more than he expected it to. The brunet had a sense that it was the same for Clay, as he felt the young blonde relax underneath his palm, which still rested atop Dream’s arm. Phil circled around to the other side of Wilbur, moving a chair with him. Planting it against the floor silently, he set his coat on the back of the hard material, eyes never leaving the boy on the cot. 

The best part of the silent room was the lack of expectation. Phil didn't expect any responses or force a stilted conversation that would be akin to talking to brick walls. He didn’t ask if they were okay, because he knew the answer. Anyone who felt genuinely okay in a situation like this was either in _really_ bad shock or batshit insane. He didn’t say that everything was fine because everything was _not,_ and if Phil Watson was one thing, he was _not_ a liar. He didn’t treat the others like they were babies, because they _weren’t._ Adults got affected just as hard in these times, they hurt just as much as anyone else. They weren’t invincible and they didn’t always stay strong. Sometimes, they needed to break down a little. It was healthy, it was okay, it was normal. Phil knew that. He knew the need for mourning, even if the situation didn’t go that far. George was glad that Dream called the older back in that car ride because if he hadn’t, the brunet would’ve shattered under it all already.

The brunet watched as Phil combed some hair out of the sleeping boy’s face, pain so delicately painted in the older’s expression. George morbidly wondered how many times he had sat in a hospital with someone who had gotten hurt, someone who had gotten hurt like _this_. He didn’t think he’d ever ask. He didn’t want to know, honestly. His brilliant blue eyes shone with a type of ache that had George diverting his gaze away, feeling like he was intruding and about to burst into tears at the mere sight of that agony in Phil. Dream’s emerald and shamrock irises tracked the movement of the oldest as his hand caressed Wilbur’s cheek for a few seconds. “Wilbur..” Phil whispered nearly silently, tears glistening in his eyes. He sighed and shook his head, voice a little louder. “We’re gonna have a seriously long talk when you wake up, son.” 

It shouldn’t have been funny, really, it would be insensitive to laugh at a time like this, but someone needed to get him trending on Twitter because Clay found himself holding back giggles from the sentence. Phil turned to him, a hint of amusement lighting up in his eyes. “What, can me and my son not enjoy our family bonding in peace?” The small smile on his face only spurred Dream on more as he let out a single wheeze, face brighter than it had been in hours. George felt something inside of him repair itself just a little bit at the sound and sight. Thank the fucking Gods for Phil Watson. He was truly a treasure. 

Chuckling, the british blonde moved from his spot next to Wilbur, maneuvering back around to the other two. He walked behind them, putting an arm around them each. He brought them in for a close hug, and they leaned into the touch. Phil patted George on the shoulder, rubbing small circles into Dream’s. The older eventually stepped back and stretched. “Hey, how about we go get some food, yeah? That sound good?” As if on cue, Clay’s stomach growled. He grimaced, staring down at Will again. “Yeah, I could use some food, but what about-”

“I’ll stay,” George cut his American friend off, turning to face him. “I can stay with Will. You two go on and get something to eat, I don’t really feel like going out anyways.” The brunet felt Phil’s concerned stare bore into the side of his head, so he met his eyes. The younger brit could practically see the cogs turning in his brain. The older man backed off, but something in his gaze communicated “we’ll be talking later” and George was okay with that. For now, though, he would let Dream get his turn at car therapy. He definitely needed it. 

Dream thought for a moment. “If you’re sure, George, but I'm bringing you back some fries.” The brit hit his arm playfully, grinning. “If you’re gonna call them ‘fries’ at the drive through, good luck, dumbass.” Phil sucked in a breath, firm as he said, “No, there is no way he’s driving. My heart would not be able to handle that.” Dream squawked in mock offense. “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of driving!” George scoffed, “Yeah, on the wrong side of the road.” Clay blew raspberries at the other while Phil laughed at their antics. Soon enough, after George’s two hugs, Phil was herding the American out of the door, Dream joking around freely. The American didn’t even look back at the sleeping angel in the room. George knew that he didn’t forget about him, but it was a good start. 

The short brunet came down from his small high and turned his attention back to the bed, a crestfallen look forming on his face. He was alone with a suicidal, sleeping Wilbur for who knew how long. His mood morphed into one of affliction and silent distress, almost like a low whine from an animal in pain, not quite calm but lower energy; lethargic misery of some sort. He found his way back to his chair, feeling as if reality itself was shifting. Nothing clicked in his mind, he didn’t know what was happening, but he didn't necessarily care, either. He just allowed the wave of dissociation to wash over him, disconnecting from his sense of self and sense of the world. Anything to get over the pain of sitting in a room, alone, with Wilbur Soot at this point in time. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, or when he came back to his senses. It must’ve happened at one point, because he was thinking. He was thinking and he was aware that he was thinking. He didn’t know how to handle what he was thinking about, so he let the thoughts come as they go, not holding on too long to one thing. He went back through the situation that had just occurred a while back quite a few times, still coming to grasp with it. His hold on reality slowly grew stronger the more that he pondered it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted that.

The smell of antiseptics and sanitization. White walls and even whiter floors, perfectly aligned colored tiles decorating the boring ground every here and there. Every single particle just a little too perfectly placed. The sound of curtains rustling and footsteps with a purpose. The cold temperature and even colder atmosphere of people who were a little too close to death or a little too familiar with seeing it happen. George was in a hospital, physically, he _knew_ that. His mind, however, was still kneeling down on uncomfortable pavement, arms cradling his best friend, who was latched onto the man who just tried to _kill_ himself, who was convinced that the world would be better off without him, who was so _stupidly_ wrong about himself and everyone’s thoughts on him. Someone who he called a good friend, someone who he genuinely cared about, even if they didn’t talk as much with each other as they should, honestly. 

His chair was turned facing towards Wilbur Soot, who was still asleep on the hospital bed. He wasn’t right up against him in the way Clay had been, but he wasn’t on the other side of the room, either. He sat near the edge of the cot, a little closer to Will than the foot of the bed. The brunet stood and moved to camp right next to the sleeping saint, mind still reeling from the past few hours. His few tears had long since dried by then. George didn’t allow himself to break down just yet. He needed to keep composure for a little while longer, then he’d sob when the timing was right. It was healthy to cry, the Brit knew that, and he wasn’t disregarding it, either. He just also knew that he had to be able to communicate with the people around him, to be strong for the young American who had _just_ had his first ever experience with suicide. He had had to _catch_ the man as he fell to his death, for fuck’s sake. George wouldn’t have been able to handle that, his first time being in one of those situations. This was, unfortunately, _not_ his first time. 

The shorter brunet looked down at the other. He looked almost peaceful, sleeping like this. He wasn’t sure how the musician did it. George wasn’t going to get any sleep for a while, now _that_ he was sure of. He almost would’ve envied the weeping angel, if he didn’t know any better. No, George _knew_ the pain that ran through his body, the thoughts that filled his head. He _knew_ the way he was broken and he would never want to be in his shoes, even if it meant saving Will from himself. Call him cruel, but he found it counterproductive and just worthless to take on the exact same burden to save someone, because then the vicious cycle would just start again and it would hurt more than it would heal. There were better ways to solve this. They might have been slower, but they were so much more efficient. This _wasn’t_ easy, and thinking it was would only make it so, _so_ much harder than it already was. 

No matter how much George had already learned from his history with the sensitive subject, it didn’t make it any easier to deal with it. It didn’t make it stop hurting when he scanned over the cuts and fading bruises on Wilbur’s body, the battle scars that proved his struggles. George just wanted to curl up and cry right there, but he was still hanging on the edge, taking in deep breaths to stabilize himself. Even if his arms were getting tired, even if his shoulders ached and his fingers cramped and his hands spasmed with the weight and pain. Iced anger was an easy thing to fall into when you spend a lifetime relying on cold to survive. Hot anger was destructive in a way George simply couldn’t be in that moment, so he fell back into his oldest habit: cold, cold anger. He casted his gaze downwards to the floor, focusing on the ice in his lungs. He should get it out before Phil comes back, before Dream gets hurt further by George’s old, stupid coping mechanisms. It wasn’t much, but once he started, he spiraled. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. An actual idiot. Jumping off of a bridge? Seriously trying to get rid of yourself whenever you know how much you matter? And if you don’t, I’ll gladly remind you once you’re awake and doing a little better. I’ll smack some sense into that empty skull of yours.” George began quietly, voice bitter. “You know Dream made a joke about nonces today, yeah? If you taught him that, I’m going to fucking destroy you. I mean, you’re fucked either way, but I’ll gladly wait my turn in line for the Slap Wilbur train.” He smiled, though it was strained and venomous at the same time, conflicted and unsettled. He gave up on that one real quick. “I hate you so much. You realize you can’t take it _back_ , right? You can’t just take something like that _back_ . What if you had succeeded? What _then_ ? How would you be able to _stand_ knowing you left us behind, that you left Tommy, that you left Phil, fuck, that you even left _me?_ We don’t talk as much as the others, but,” George took in a shaky breath. “I still _care._ I care _so much more_ than I think you’ve ever given me credit for, and that goes for everyone else, too. We genuinely care about you, but you can’t seem to get that through your _thick fucking skull._ Why can’t you?” Tears silently streamed down the short Brit’s face, but he didn’t mind it this time. He just felt _angry_ , he felt _hurt,_ and so goddamn _tired._ He slipped his hand into Wilbur’s. The taller’s fingers were cold. “I’m sorry I didn’t drill it into you soon enough. I’m _so_ sorry.” Resting his head on his arm, he refused to let go of Will’s hand. He sobbed furiously into the nearly silent room, overwhelmed and so, _so_ tired.

“Why would you do this to me? I can’t handle losing you, you’re such an amazing person and none of us can handle losing you. We don’t have to stream, we don’t have to upload, we don’t have to tweet. We don’t even have to _call_ much. We still _need_ you, Wilbur. We can talk and keep you up to date and laugh with you, shit, I’ll _live_ with you if I fucking have to. If you _want_ me to. I care, Wilbur, and I’ll keep caring no matter how many times you snap at me or yell or hurt yourself. Everytime you come back to the edge, everytime you stare down at the water and try to jump in, I’ll be here to pull you back. We _all_ will. Even when you’re doing better and actually recovered, I’ll be here. When you’re smiling and laughing and okay on your own, I’ll still be here. I’ll be damned before I ever turn my back on you. You better hold me to that every fucking second.” He smiled despite himself. “I love you. It’s out of character for me, but this _isn’t_ a character and I’m _not_ GeorgeNotFound. He may not ever say I love you, but _I_ do. I meant it, Will, I love you. Don’t ever forget it, _dick_.”

George took in a breath. He knew that it was only a lightweight off of his chest, but the rest of the weight would lift eventually. He could be patient. He still had car therapy with Philza Minecraft later. The short Brit’s phone dinged. _Speak of the devil._ George wondered what Phil could possibly want, - maybe his order for the food? - but whatever it was, he would do everything he could in a heartbeat. Opening his Discord chat with Phil, he scanned over the new messages. He started typing back.

**_Philza_ **

**Philza**

_Hey George_

_its Dream_

**George**

_Dream? Whats up_

**Philza**

_We may be a little longer_

_We have another stop to make_

Another stop? Where the hell were they headed? George felt like something was off. 

**George**

_Where are you guys going?_

**Philza**

_Richmonf_

_d**_

**George**

_what the hell are ypu doing in Richmond???_

**Philza**

_going to do**_

_we’re not there yet george_

_pickinf up a toddler_

What the fuck. 

**George**

_What the fuvk_

_what is tommy doingn richmond????_

_I swear if he ran fromh ome im gonna destroy him_

**Philza**

_lmao_

_thats exactly what happened_

**George**

_are you fuvking kiddinf me?_

_oh my goddd_

_All the way from Nottingham? Get him somw food ffs_

**Philza**

_on it_

**George**

_Get me some while youre at it :/_

**Philza**

_Lmao_

_you’re the boss, babe ;)_

**George**

_ewww_

_dont do that on phils acc_

**Philza**

_oh_

_so im allowed to do it on mine? ;))_

**George**

_ill block you dont fucking test me_

**_seen_ **

George sighed, leaning back in his chair and counting the ceiling tiles. His hand was still intertwined with Wilbur's. He made no move to change that, simply setting his phone down next to Dream’s on the small table next to the bed. He was still in a hospital, Will was still out of it, Dream and Phil were picking up _Tommy_ now, and George was tired as hell and sort of hungry. It was going to be a long, long night. Wiping the last of his dried tears from his cheeks with his free hand, the short brunet slanted down and rested his head against the clean sheets. His eyes shut slowly as he faded from reality once again. Maybe not exactly sleeping, but he’d take what he could get with two hands. Well, technically one, because George was not going to let Wilbur’s hand get cold again, he wasn’t an animal. His hand would cramp and ache like a bitch later, but he just added to the list of things he would have to worry about. The list was getting quite full.

As he said earlier, it was going to be a long night.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> techno pog next chapter??? 
> 
> also, i listened to the speedrun music and ended up finishing after playing it for 2 hours. are you proud of me? :)))
> 
> cry like the little monkeys you are  
> kidding i love you
> 
> sorry if i sound incoherent my brain has been turned to mush because speedrun music just has something about it man-
> 
> see you soon(?), nerds
> 
> -duckk


	5. 5.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy finally meets with Dream and Phil. Car ride shenanigans ensue. 
> 
> They desperately try to cherish the joy while it lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so, i ended up splitting this chapter down the middle, and i'm not sure if i should just put the other half into ch 6 as well? or if it should be it's own little 5.5?? yeah, it'll probably be 5.5, then everything else will be normal(hopefully)
> 
> i have, like, so many other book ideas so i'm excited to share those with you once this book is finished:)
> 
> TW// panic, swearing, referenced suicide attempt, implied/referenced self harm, low self-worth

Tommy _may_ have forgotten how cold it could get in England around this time of the year. So _maybe_ the whole gamer-I-stay-inside-to-livestream-block-game plan had made him more susceptible to any weather condition harsher than a light breeze in November. There wasn’t anything particularly _wrong_ with being more of an indoor person, right?

The bite of the cold air nipped at Tommy’s face incessantly, rippling through his fluffy hair and frosting his fingers. The young blonde rubbed his frigid hands together for some form of warmth. Yeah, he had lost his touch with nature. It should _not_ be this cold out. He probably should’ve accounted for the temperature and grabbed a thicker coat while he was still at his place, still in Nottingham. _Oops_. 

“Okay, Tommy, we can basically see the train station. We’ll be there in about a minute, okay?” Tommy hummed in acknowledgment to Dream, shuffling over to sit on an empty bench by the street. It was pitch black, and the clouds weren’t out but neither were the stars. Someday, he would get the hell out of London and to some place with pretty constellations and unpolluted waters. Maybe he’d go down to Brighton and join his friends there. Maybe he’d go running around the UK or even Europe as a whole with nothing but a bag, a phone, and a credit card. Tonight, though, he was a bit occupied. His escape could wait for later. 

“I’ll be waiting out front, Big Man,” He sighed, harshly rubbing his arm with his free hand in some desperate attempt to create warmth from friction. The other held onto his phone. “It’s cold as hell out here, bruv.” A wheeze emitted from the device. It was oddly reminiscent of a tea kettle. “ _God_ , you’re so British!” Tommy pouted, brows furrowed and cheeks puffed out. “Phil, he’s being mean to me. Get him to stop.” Phil’s slightly distant laugh echoed, “Sorry, Tommy, I’m too busy driving.” The younger blonde huffed, frowning jokingly. “Now you guys are just- just conspiring against me. An American and a British person, working together? What the fuck is this?” The other two chuckled at the joke, boosting Tommy's morale. 

“We’ll see you in a second, Tommy.” He was going to be alright, he was in good hands. He could almost forget, for just a moment, what exactly had brought him to Richmond in the first place. It was enough to calm his jittering nerves, if only for a bit. They’d go one step at a time, and they’d take those steps together. “I know.”

The call ended abruptly, confusing Tommy. Why would they hang up? That was rather rude, especially since the poor boy was stranded at a train station in the middle of an unfamiliar city. He stared disappointingly at the phone. Dream must’ve hung up on him. _Asshole._

Another car made its way down the road, but this time, it slowed when it approached Tommy’s area. Recognition clicked in the young brit’s mind as he lit up, watching it sit in park for a moment before a short blonde man opened the door and stood quickly. “Tommy, oh my god,” Phil breathed, rushing over and wrapping the kid in a loving, _warm_ embrace. Tommy melted into it instantly, returning the hug, even if he had to bend down a bit to fit against him. 

“You are grounded, son. Seriously grounded. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Gulping, the younger pulled back, eyes diverted away. “Phil, I-” The older shook his head, sighing. “Later. We’ll talk about this later.” Tommy nodded, tugging at his jacket sleeves. He laughed nervously. “Christ, it’s cold. Can we get in the car now?” Phil chuckled, patting the taller’s shoulder before hopping back into the driver’s seat. Tommy (begrudgingly) jumped into the back seat, mumbling about how _Dream_ should be in the backseat and the _British boys_ should get the front. Even if he was moping about his seating arrangements, he couldn't help the sigh of relief that whooshed out of him from the blanket of heat that had settled in the car.

Dream twisted in his seat, meeting Tommy’s eyes as the car started moving again. “Hi, Tommy.” He greeted, smile showing off his pearly whites. It still felt slightly off every time Tom got to see Dream’s face, (even though he’d known what it looked like for months), but he’d get used to it eventually. The teen gave a grin in return. “Hey, bitch boy. How’s the Queen’s Land been treating you?” Clay wheezed that brilliant wheeze. “It’s been really nice, honestly. A little cold, though. Maybe someday you’ll have to come to Florida. You know, experience the heat for once and all.” Tommy scrunched up his nose, “Uh, no, that sounds awful. Isn’t it, like, _sticky_ and stuff? _Fuck_ no, I don’t want to be sticky _and_ hot. I prefer the English weather, thank you not at all.” Phil’s shoulders shook with his amusement. Clay shot back, smirking, “If you love the cold so much, get out of the car right now and walk.” 

Tommy backpedaled immediately, waving his hands and shaking his head frantically, timorous giggles weaving through his words, “Uh- nonono, Big Man, there’s no need for that- c’mon, Big D, _my friend_ , I- um, I don’t think that that's necessary.” Phil decided to play along a bit, much to Tommy’s dismay. “If the heat isn’t much of an issue, then going to Florida sounds like a fun little trip, mate. Imagine all the fun things you could experience!” Tommy narrowed his eyes at the driver, “Like being surrounded by- by fucking _Americans?_ I don’t think so, Big P. I’ll gladly pass on that one.” 

His tone was all fake annoyance but his grin was a dead giveaway to his actual feelings. Phil glanced at him through the mirror when he thought that Tommy wasn’t looking and smiled so genuinely, so fondly, that Tommy definitely did _not_ turn a little red. He swiftly moved his gaze to the passing town outside of his window. Maybe, if Tommy was being completely honest with himself (very rare), visiting America wouldn’t be the _worst_ thing in the world.

“So, where are we getting food from, children?” Dream gave Phil a look, lips tugging upwards. “Hey, _I’m_ an adult!’’ Phil’s eyes were enlivened as he teased, “Maybe, but you’re still younger than me, and you’re a child.” Tommy perked up, face mischievous. “Yeah, Dream, be glad you’re a child. At least you aren’t as old as Phil.” The oldest blonde cracked up, “Oh my god.” Clay seemed to be feeling chaotic because he took the youngest’s side quickly. “Don’t insult your elders to their faces, especially to someone so ancient.” Tommy nodded, completely serious. “Yes, yes, I understand. My apologies, Dream, creator of the DreamSMP, the very popular roleplay series streamed live on Twitch.tv. He’s very fragile, we have to be careful with his very, _very_ breakable bones.” 

Phil warned them, failing to stop his smile, “Watch it, you two, or I’ll kick you both out of the car right now.” Tommy leaned forward a little, unrestricted by any seat belt. “You wouldn’t be able to do that, Philza Minecraft, your poor old soul would shatter if you let us get even mildly upset.” He turned his head slightly to look at Tommy when he noticed the disregard of safety. His eyes widened and he turned his attention back to the road, voice firm, “Tommy! Seat belt, now.” Tommy snapped up, immediately strapping the safety measure on and straightening his posture with absolutely no complaint. The oldest seemed unfazed by it, muttering a “Jesus Christ, Tommy.”

Dream watched in amazement. “I’ve never seen Tommy comply with someone so quickly. Oh my god, Phil, you are the ultimate authority figure. I’m never calling you old again, that was scary! Why are all the Bri-” He caught himself in the middle of his own sentence, and a certain event from earlier that night whispered at the back of his mind. Tommy squinted his eyes, “What the fuck are you on about? Is this some- some fucking American thing?” Clay shrugged, resting his elbow on the car door and his cheek in his palm. “I’m just hungry.” 

Tommy’s eyes shot open, mouth gaping. You could practically see the light bulb hovering over him. Turning to Phil, he pleaded. “ _Phil-_ Phil, _please_ , can we get McDonald’s? _Please?”_ The older brit nodded. “If Dream’s up for it, then we can stop at one. Everyone’s bound to be starving, anyways.” Tommy eagerly shook the American’s right arm, which was resting on the centre console. Clay let him get his excitement out, smirking but merely keeping his face out of the kid’s eyesight and giving an affirmative, nodding his head nonchalantly. “I don’t mind.” 

As the teen celebrated in the backseat, the two adults bit their tongues on teasing words and jabs. Tommy was genuinely excited about something, and they were going to cherish it while it lasted. The hospital was definitely going to be rough, especially for Tommy, and this was the relief they were going to need. _Too bad George isn’t here for this_ , the American blonde thought to himself. Hopefully, the short brunet was doing okay. In hindsight, George was most definitely hiding the extremes of his panic from Dream back at the bridge and the hospital. Phil was certainly doing the same. 

Clay would have to thank them a million times over and pay for their internet bills for months to finally repay the debt he had accumulated over the past few hours. The brits had done so much to keep his head above water, and he couldn’t be more grateful for them. 

Sometimes, he forgot just how young he really was. In the grand scheme of things, 21 wasn’t a long time to be living at all. He also forgot that a good handful of his friends were older than him, and were emotionally stronger than him. At least, it certainly felt like it.

“Phil! There’s one over there, pull in, Big Man.” Phil laughed, but turned into the McDonald’s and settled at the back of the waiting line of the drive-thru. Luckily, it wouldn’t be too long of a wait. “Alright, Toms, what do you want?” Tommy took his time considering his options all while Dream looked at him with a glint in his eye and a smile that screamed chaos. They seemed to have a silent exchange for a few moments, one Phil could only guess the topic of. Whatever it was, it was probably going to either be really annoying or stupid, but definitely funny. Dream seemed to have won the little contretemps, since the teen finally gave in with a defeated sigh, stating rather flatly, “I’d like to get a Happy Meal, please.” 

It was silent for about 5 seconds before both of the adults broke, wheezing and choking on their laughter. Tommy slouched down and pouted, crossing his arms but grinning to himself. It didn’t take long for the usual tough guy persona to snap in half and, before he even knew it, Tommy was giggling and choking on his breath. He even started to shake with how aggressively he was cackling. That was one thing that they had noticed about the young streamer: Tommy usually laughed the hardest when someone (including himself) made a joke, and even when he was the butt of it, he still ended up enjoying it just as much as the others.

“You know we love you, Toms,” Clay said breezily, smiling and finally calming himself. “we’d buy you anything you’d like.” Tommy froze at the use of his nickname, a name that the teen wasn’t used to the other blonde saying. He was used to Phil, to Techno, to- to _Wilbur_ calling him that. Apart from the initial shock, he was surprised to find that he didn’t mind it coming from the American. It rolled off of his tongue well, he rationalized with himself. It wasn’t that he was _enjoying_ affection from the older, god, it was just a stupid nickname that had somehow stuck like glue. Still, something about it left him even warmer inside, and the smile that accompanied it definitely did not do anything to help. Tom bit his lip to stop his grin, “A happy meal is fine. I’d like coffee too, though.” 

Phil jumped in instantly to deny the blonde kid his request, Tommy groaned and whined about how unfair it was and how uncool the oldest was being, the American finally gave them his own order (and George’s), and Clay got coffee just to spite Tommy. Dream couldn’t stop the huge grin that seemed to make a home for itself on his face. It hurt his cheeks, it made his skin slightly uncomfortable, but it was there for a good reason. 

He was okay, the kid who ran from his house hours away to visit his friend was okay, and Phil’s brightened expression seemed to indicate that he was okay. Together, the three blondes would make George feel okay, whether it was with comforting touches or lighthearted jabs or genuine talks alone. Wilbur was going to be okay, even if right now he wasn't. They all kept reassuring each other and themselves, both verbally and mentally, that it was okay.

It _wasn’t_ okay; Wilbur had tried to take his own life, Dream was breaking down, George was hiding behind his walls again, Tommy had left his city without permission, and Phil was being forced to stay strong for everyone. But it would be. It would take time, so much time, and they wouldn’t miss a single second of it. 

He blinked and Phil was passing out food to the two others. Before Dream could grab his drink, a certain gremlin from the backseat snatched the coffee out of his hands and retreated to his seat. He guarded the drink like it was his most valuable item, even though it wasn’t his. 

“Hey- Tommy, _no_! That’s Dream’s!” 

“I just want a _sip_ , Big Man! Dream can understand, he’s cool like that.”

“You don’t. need. _Coffee_. Especially not at an hour like this. Hand it over, Toms.” Silence. Then, from behind the two adults, an obnoxiously loud slurping noise erupted. Tommy’s scream echoed as chaos ensued in Phil’s car outside of a McDonald’s. Too bad George and Wilbur were missing this.

\--

“How much longer ‘til we’re there, Big Man?” Tommy whined, chewing on the last of Phil’s chips as his leg jumped anxiously. Turned out, giving a growing, lanky teenager just a Happy Meal to sustain on after hours of no food just didn’t _work_. Luckily, Phil, being the responsible adult he was, had gotten the younger an actual meal too, which Tommy promptly scarfed down. Even then, the young streamer was still hungry enough to warrant the oldest sacrificing his chips. He wasn’t too hungry, anyways, so it wasn’t too big of a deal to Phil. As long as it meant that Tommy was happy, he would’ve given up his chips even if he himself was hungry. Plus, the hospital had vending machines. It’d be fine.

Phil sighed, stopping at another red light, “We’re only another 15 minutes away.” Tommy huffed, fidgeting nervously. “Isn’t the hospital, like, 30 minutes from Richmond? I remember you guys mentioning that and, if I’m right, which I _always_ am, it’s been a solid hour since I got in the car. If Maths class has taught me anything, it’s that an hour is _much longer_ than 30 minutes.” Dream rolled his eyes playfully and sipped his coffee, “Calm down, Toms. We had to pick up food and deal with your grabby little hands everywhere, of course it’s gonna take a little longer.” Tommy’s face dropped, and he was oblivious to the joking in his tone. “Oh, ‘m sorry.” He mumbled quietly, gaze downcast. 

Dream instantly picked up on the catch in his voice and furrowed his brows. Putting down his drink, he looked at Tommy from the rearview mirror. He was hunched in on himself and staring down at the floorboard. Phil’s ocean eyes met emerald for a moment before Clay twisted a bit in his seat and leaned on the centre console. Making sure the youngest could see what he was doing, Dream set a hand gently on Tommy’s knee. 

Tommy shot up to look Dream in his eyes, only to be met with his fond, caring gaze. The young brit seemed to be expecting anger, annoyance, _something_ other than love and concern. It made Clay’s chest clench. “Tommy, it’s okay. You’re okay. I was just playing around, I didn’t mean to upset you. None of us are upset with you, none of us are mad. I shouldn't have spoken like that, and I’m sorry for making you think we’re actually upset with you. I love you, Toms, and I am really sorry.” 

Tommy felt that familiar burning sensation tickling behind his eyes, so he rubbed furiously at them. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m- why I’m being like this.” Dream studied him carefully, simply smiling - albeit, a bit awkwardly - and tracing circles into his leg. “It’s okay, don’t apologize. It’s a lot to deal with, you can cry if you need to. Neither of us will judge you.” Tommy made a low whining noise involuntarily. Out of the corner of Dream’s left eye, he saw how Phil tensed very slightly at it. “I know that, I _know_ that! but I just-” He cut himself off, covering his face with his jittering hands and exhaling shakily. 

Clay frowned, turning back to Phil for a moment before receiving a nod from the older. He wasted no time in unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding his way into the back seat as smoothly as humanly possible with being a 6’2 man. He scooted himself towards Tommy and put an easy arm around the younger. Much to Dream’s delight, Tommy instantly melted into the side hug.

“I’m just fucking things up. For you, for everyone.” Tommy turned towards Dream and mumbled into his chest, clutching his shirt in a knuckle white grip. Clay kept his arm around him and used his other hand to run through Tommy’s hair, pressing a small kiss to his forehead before resting his chin on the top of his head.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I- I am! I fucking- I fucking _forced_ you to come all the way out from the hospital to pick me up and you- you guys _already_ have Will to worry about and- and now you have to deal with _me_ -” Tommy’s voice wavered and stuttered through his slightly muffled sentences, and it broke Dream’s heart. Is this how George felt at the bridge? Is this how Phil felt during their talks?

“ _-fuck_ , my parents are going to kill me, _Tubbo’s_ still mad at me, and- and I’m just fucking this up! You guys have to deal with all of it, and I-” He sniffled. Dream readjusted his chin, which was still on the top of Tommy’s head. Dream shut his eyes with a pained expression that he was almost certain Phil had seen. He didn’t care. “I’m _so sorry._ ”

Dream held him in what he was hoping was a comforting way. “Shh, it’s okay. Breathe, Toms, _breathe_. I’m not mad at you, Phil’s not mad at you, and I doubt Tubbo is, either. Does he know about Wilbur? I’m not mad if he does.” He felt the young brit nod against his chest. Dream shifted to pull him in closer, if that was even possible. Tommy’s hands were still holding onto his shirt. The position felt too similar to one he was in earlier that night. Wilbur and Tommy had a lot more in common than he originally had thought. The knowledge wasn’t that comforting, if he was being completely honest. 

“Tubbo is probably just stressed, and it’s _not_ your fault. This is a hard situation to be in, especially for you two. I’m sure he was just panicked, just like you were.” Tommy didn’t reply to that, only curling against Dream more. The older didn’t fight it, there was not a bone in his tired body that could’ve _ever_ pushed Tommy away. Christ, if Techno heard about this sudden fondness for the boy, he’d never let him see the end of it.

“I certainly didn’t make it any better.”

“..Well, maybe you did,” When Tommy looked up at him for a moment as if he was insane, he elaborated. “You told him where you were heading and exactly what was happening,” Clay looked over at Phil for a moment. His ocean eyes were the slightest bit glazed with tears. Dream was sure that his looked the exact same. “And while i’m sure Phil and I would’ve appreciated being able to tell you and plan some visits on our own terms, Tubbo probably feels better knowing that you told him what you were up to. You’re okay, Toms, I promise you. I may be a nasty American who’s not allowed in the Queen’s land for a long time,” Tommy’s quiet laugh brought a genuine smile to Dream’s brightened face. “But I will fight absolutely everything and everyone to get you next to Wilbur, next to us, next to your parents and, at the end of the day? To somewhere - _anywhere_ \- that’s safe.”

Tommy’s head lifted off of Clay’s torso at the sincerity in Dream’s voice and he stared into the American’s eyes. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he sobbed out, rushing back into the safety of Dream’s arms. “Thank you,” He hiccuped. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Th-Thank you so much.” Dream squeezed Tommy back, kissing the younger blonde’s head again and resting his cheek against Tommy’s hair. It was soft. He looked out at the passing city through the window. “It’s no problem. I love you, Toms.”

Clay couldn’t tell how long he sat there in the back of Phil’s car, cuddling with a scared, hurt sixteen year old child who seemed _so_ much younger resting against Dream’s chest. All the American knew was that they were pulling into the parking lot of the hospital and Tommy was considerably calmer, tears dry against his face. That was better. 

Phil found his way back to their original parking space, turning off the car and putting the key in his pocket. They sat quietly for a moment, almost too scared or drained to move and break the silence. It had to happen eventually, Tommy was going to have to walk into that building, into _that room,_ because wasn’t that the _whole reason_ that he ran to Richmond in the first place? Why was he _so reluctant_ to get up and go see his friend, his _brother?_ Was he really _that_ much of a coward?

“Tommy,” Dream started quietly, whispering into the younger blonde’s hair and effectively silencing the thoughts. “Are you ready to go in?” Tommy let in a stuttering breath, pulling the older blonde impossibly closer. He was going to take all the comfort that he could get, no matter how stupid he may have looked. “I- I don’t know. I’m- I’m absolutely _terrified._ Why am I so scared? It shouldn’t be _scary,_ it shouldn’t be _hard._ It’s just a fuckin’ _room.”_

“It’s not just a room to any of us right now, Tommy, and it’s perfectly valid and completely okay to be scared. We can breathe here for a minute, if you need.” 

“..No, no- I have to go in there, I _have_ to. Wilbur’s in there.” Tommy stood his ground (even if his voice was stuttering and his hands were shaking), lifting himself off of Dream and out of his hug. He almost melted back into his embrace the moment his warm skin met slightly colder air, but he forced himself to scoot over and give the other room. 

Phil turned to look at the youngest blonde. “Will isn’t going to disappear, mate. It’s okay if you need to just sit for a moment.”

Tommy sighed, finalizing his decision. “I’ll be fine. It wouldn’t do any good to stall, anyways.” 

The two adults in the car glanced at each other, a silent conversation beginning.

Dream raised his eyebrows. _Do we let him actually go in like this?_

Philza gave him a sorrowful smile. _We don’t really have a better option._

Clay frowned, face twisted in affliction. _It’s gonna be bad, isn’t it?_

Phil tilted his head down slightly, nodding. _Yeah. It probably will be._

After another second of quiet, Tommy cleared his throat awkwardly and clapped his hands. Both of the older streamers seemed to snap out of their thoughts. “Let’s get going, yeah? Can’t have you _old_ people dragging us down with your _dawdling,_ now can we?” Tommy grinned and Clay absolutely _hated_ how it didn’t completely reach his eyes. Phil studied him for another second before he chuckled and it made the American wonder how long it took for the Brit to learn to switch out of his actual emotions like that. “Tommy- no, Tommy, my bones- are so heavy and creaky. How will I ever make it?” The oldest was speaking in that flat, sarcastic tone he used during jokes sometimes. Tommy laughed at it. 

The way they were bouncing off of each other made the atmosphere less tense and easier to sink into. Grabbing onto the two bags of food that still had some things in them and the drinks, Dream popped open the car door and stepped out, shutting it with his hip. Tommy double checked all of his items on him and hopped out of the car as well. Phil wasn’t far behind. 

_“Christ,_ it’s so fucking _cold,”_ Tommy yelped, bringing his arms up to his torso to conserve some body heat. “When did it get so fucking _cold?_ It’s, like, _at most_ two degrees out here.” Clay wheezed, taken aback. “Two degrees? Okay, it’s cold but not tha-” Tommy cut him off, frowning and wrapping his jacket tighter around himself as they walked across the lot. “Wrong temperature unit, _idiot.”_ Clay rolled his eyes, smiling at how he articulated the words _idiot_ and _temperature._ Glad to know Tommy was still Tommy.

Phil stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket, grabbing his phone and unlocking it. “It’s about six degrees out, Toms. You want my jacket?” Tommy shook his head. “No, no, Big Man, I’m- i'm good.”

After another second of shivers and teeth chattering, Dream wordlessly stepped up closer to Tommy and carefully wrapped an arm around him, hands still full. Tommy immediately sighed in relief, leaning into the American’s side. If Tommy didn’t pull away even when they were inside the warmer lobby, well, no one was really asking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i hope you all enjoyed this chapter :D 
> 
> i may have gotten a little carried away, aand i don't want my chapters to be too long, maybe a few thousand at most and 1-2k at the least? that's what i've been rolling with. the other part (5.5??) will be up soon:))
> 
> i'm not too proud of this one, to be honest. i kinda like it, though, and it's not that bad. i just know i can do better but i've changed it as much as i've wanted. the original ch5 was going to be so so different, and i like this one wayy better, so yay:D
> 
> love you guys! stay safe <3333
> 
> -duckk

**Author's Note:**

> So pain is all we know as we've learned today
> 
> I- You guys, please, take care of yourselves and know that you are loved! ❤️💜🧡 Remember to go get some food and water, get a healthy amount of sleep and surround yourself with people you love and trust and who love and trust you. Love you guys:3  
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated:))
> 
> IG: duck.kue (shameless self promo because new acc, baby. you can talk w/ me, im down)


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